


Begin Again

by TaciturnLove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaciturnLove/pseuds/TaciturnLove
Summary: A year after Draco Malfoy's horrific death, Harry is determined to avenge him. He may get a bit more than he bargained for.Or, a story about second chances. Will Harry fuck it all up?





	1. A Lonely Company

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Universe, characters, or content (books, movies, etc) of any sort. I just like to write for fun.
> 
> Just a warning, this story is very dark with some pretty graphic depictions of violence, death, torture, and mutilation. Also sex. Lots of sex, but in later chapters. Harry is not a great husband, either, just an FYI.
> 
> I'm thinking this will be about 5 chapters total but we will see where this bad boy takes us.
> 
> It's been a very long time for me. Please forgive any misspellings/general misuse of any Harry Potter-centric verbiage or themes. I hope you lovely people enjoy!
> 
> Story and chapter titles are all based off of the song "Begin Again," by Purity Ring, which actually inspired this work.

 

_I’ve been watching your kindness keep_

_A lonely company_

_Look at the fire and think of me_

_-Purity Ring_

 

Chapter One: A Lonely Company

_They are standing outside of Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley. The beautiful weather is unprecedented. For the past few weeks it’s been non-stop rain and thunderstorms. Today, the sky is blue and clear of any clouds. The sun shines luminously and the air feels crisp and cool, not hot and humid in the least. It isn’t too cold or too warm out. It isn’t as crowded as usual. Harry looks over at Draco. They smile at each other, and Draco’s blonde hair shines in the sunlight where it catches. His eyes are two mercurial pools of silver, so vibrant and bright. It seems that sunny weather compliments him well. They fall into step beside each other, moving at a somewhat leisurely pace. There isn’t a whole lot that they have to accomplish today, as they are pretty much done solving their most recent case; a string of robberies among the shops in Diagon Alley, in which wards were not recognizing a threat at all. _

_Draco says something but Harry is so lost in thought that he misses it. He turns his head toward the other man, asks him what he said. Draco opens his mouth to speak, but is struck by a spell so hard his entire body lurches from it. Someone has struck from an unknown location. Harry steps forward to right his partner, surveying their surroundings, on high alert. But the damage has already been done. He feels wetness on his hands from where he is holding Draco, hears a slick, tearing sound. He looks down and is horrified to see that the other man is bleeding profusely, his limbs detaching themselves from his body in slow motion, as if someone is taking a pair of invisible scissors and cutting them off of him._

_“No!” Harry yells, now directing his wand at his partner and trying every healing spell he knows. Nothing helps, so he tries to cast a stasis spell, which also fails. It seems as if magic is just bouncing off of him now. Other bystanders have taken notice and there is a panic among the crowd. “Stay with me Draco, you’re going to be okay.” Draco is staring up at him with horror in his eyes. Blood begins to pour from his mouth and he chokes on the words he is trying to say._

_Draco’s arms and legs are now completely torn from his body and he crumples in Harry’s arms. Harry can barely hold on, as there is too much blood and he can’t get a proper grip. The air is thick with the scent of it, and Harry thinks he can even taste copper. He feels sick as dread pools in his heart and stomach. This can’t be happening, he thinks, this can’t be real. He sends a Patronus out to the other Aurors for backup. Draco has stopped choking and stares blankly ahead as he finally slips out of Harry’s arms to land harshly on the blood soaked pavement._

_Harry stands in shock, staring down at his partner, in pieces on the ground, thinking almost hysterically how Draco would be livid to have so much blood in his hair. It curls with the dark, wet, thickness of it, giving it the appearance of being slicked back, much like the way he used to wear it back in the early days at Hogwarts. Harry swallows once, and then lets out an animalistic scream. Suddenly, a wizard in dark grey robes appears before them, places his hand on Draco. Harry looks up and in a flash the wizard disappears with Draco and all of his detached limbs._

_“Draco!” Harry yells, beside himself with grief, “no!”_

_“Harry,” someone says in the distance._

_“Nonononononononononono!” He is frantic, turning around in circles. The sun feels suddenly much too bright, much too hot, and he finds that he can barely breathe-_

“Harry.” Harry awakes in a tangled knot of sweat soaked limbs and blanket. He gasps for air, unceremoniously untangling himself before searching around for his glasses. His heart is pounding in his ears so loudly that he barely registers the voice of the person sitting next to him.

"Harry..." Ginny's voice is soft as she repeats his name again, but there is a tired and weary edge to it. It's too dark for him to make out her face but he knows she isn't happy. She sits next to him in the bed with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly about them. She rubs sleep from her eyes. She doesn't act concerned, only sighs with little patience.

"A nightmare? Again?" The bite to her words sting him for just a moment. Behind his eyes there are momentary flashes of platinum hair, a smile, and then smooth pale limbs being torn apart. He shudders. It’s more of a memory, but he doesn’t feel like correcting her. There isn’t a point in doing so, not anymore.

 "I think maybe you should talk to someone Harry, it's been a year and you haven't made any progress-"

He cuts her off then, much too angry. "You know that isn't true. I finally have a lead-"

"Emotionally." She interjects loudly. "I'm not talking about the case, Harry. Although that is something else altogether we need to discuss."

"What is there to discuss?" He scratches at his head, voice growing much too loud for their bedroom. "I have worked tirelessly and now for the first time in a year I may have a lead on his killer. I hardly think there is anything wrong with that Ginny, he deserves justice." He works hard to temper his voice and calm his nerves.

"Progress all made without the consent of the ministry, if I have to remind you."

"The ministry....made things difficult." He finishes blandly. There is a stretch of tense silence that lasts several moments before his wife tries again.

"Harry...I know he was your partner, and I know you want justice for him. But do you think he would have wanted to see you like this? Beating yourself up, obsessing over this case, having nightmares almost every night....Do you think he would have wanted you to be in this much pain for this long?"

"I won't be able to live with myself if I don't avenge him. I should have stopped it in the first place and I didn't." Harry says honestly. The guilt he feels is bone deep, drenched within every aspect of his being. There are things he can't say to his wife. Things that make the burning pain even brighter, more palpable. 

"We have been through this a thousand times Harry, what happened was absolutely not your fault. Do you hear me?" She is reaching out to him now, fumbling slightly in the dark until her hands are caressing his face. Harry understands that he should feel comforted by his wife's words, her tender touches. But all he feels is desolation. 

"I hear you." He answers with a sob. This is not the first time she has said this and it won't be the last. Pain hits the back of his throat like acid and he struggles to keep the tears from falling. His wife would never understand his plight. If she did, she would surely leave him. 

"Please, see someone." She begs quietly.

"I will," he lies, "just give me time to chase this lead and when this is all over, I will see someone." She sighs with relief, retreating back to her side of the bed. Harry feels much better when the weight of her arms, her stare, and her presence have left him.

"Tomorrow starts my ovulation week." She says, already getting lost in the warm embrace of sleep.

Harry says nothing. He settles down and plunges head first into another nightmare.

***

The next week trickles by without much excitement. It feels slower than usual for Harry, who works almost obsessively on the lead he has, desperately trying to make a tricky incantation work properly. It is proving frustrating, but he is so close he can almost taste his revenge.

 After the war, the wizarding world was left in chaos. Aurors worked tirelessly to wrangle Deatheaters and copycats alike. By the time Harry finally finished his training, he only caught the tail end of all of that. The fun cases, the ones that used to get his blood pumping and adrenaline going, seemed to have died along with his partner. An era of mind numbingly boring peace followed. Apart from the case he had secretly been working on for the past year, Auror work consisted of dealing mainly with petty crimes and corporate greed. As a result, work is agonizingly slow most days. This week was no exception, despite Harry feeling like a rubber band about to snap.

His nightly routine remains almost the same, save for the fact that this week Ginny is ovulating. This means that after dinner, they retreat to the bedroom. Harry lays in silence as his wife bobs along on top of him. She is beautiful in the pale moonlight. Harry knows he should be captivated by her beauty, that he should feel at least some kind of attraction to her. She is lovely, pale smooth skin glistening, perky breasts bouncing delicately, and long, fiery curls cascading down her shoulder. Her eyes are closed, mouth formed in a slight "o".

But Harry feels nothing. The only thing that finally allows him to harden beneath her and reach his completion are thoughts of a man who died long ago. Harry remembers the weight of a hard body pressed against his. He thinks he can still smell him; the earthy, spicy scent of sandalwood and a hint of something entirely unique. The minty, sweet heat of his breath. He can feel tight, lean muscles on his fingertips. Taste chapped, full lips against his own.

Once he has finished, he fears, very briefly, that these memories will one day fade into nothingness. The thought is so devastating he chokes back a sob. Ginny quietly climbs off of him before laying in the bed, legs propped up with the hopes in aiding his little swimmers to her waiting egg. Harry wonders if she feels anything anymore, if she enjoys their sex or if it's the idea of a baby that keeps her going. He doesn’t even know if she has been having orgasms lately.

Harry thinks a baby may help make him feel anything other than the misery haunting him day to day. He is excited at the idea of making a tiny little human that he can love unconditionally. Someone he can help mold and shape into a proper wizard or witch someday. His mind often drifts off with thoughts of a future daughter or son. But they have been trying for so long, the idea seems almost unreachable. Both have been cleared by mediwitches, and both have used magic to aid in conception, but to no avail. They have been told that these things take time, that there is never any guarantee. Harry and Ginny don't talk about it much, only continue to try month after month.

On Wednesday afternoon, Harry refuses yet another potential Auror partner. He works so well on his own that Kingsley has sort of been letting him slide by, but now he warns him that it has been long enough that he should be moving on. He needs a partner, according to Kingsley, and he will have to settle on one soon enough before his patience wears thin. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want another partner, it’s just that he doesn’t want another partner. No one could ever replace Draco, and Harry knows this to be truer than anything else he has ever known. And none of this is fair, really, but he nods along and makes a promise to Shacklebolt that he knows he’ll never be able to keep.

Friday night is pub night. He and Ron and a few of their other guy friends meet up to drink and talk about nonsense. His mind wanders the entire time, but he still manages to smile and nod and laugh at the appropriate times. He has it down to a science, and really, only those closest to him would be able to tell that he is still hurting, that he hasn’t moved on. He comes home too late and much too drunk, which causes a fight between him and Ginny when his dick doesn’t manage to get hard enough for them to have sex. They fight about the same things; Harry’s inability to move on, his flaws, all the things he does wrong. She looks at him with so much hurt, casts a sobering charm on him, and fucks him mechanically without a word. He barely looks at her, keeps his eyes closed and focuses on what it feels like so he doesn’t disappoint her _yet again_.

On Sunday, Harry and Ginny have dinner with the Weasleys, as is also their weekly routine. Ron and Hermione sit next to them at the table. Molly fusses over Harry, joking with Ginny that she doesn't feed him enough. Harry supposes that maybe his appetite hasn't been the same as it was, but it's nothing to really be all that concerned about. Hermione gives Harry a sympathetic look, and he wonders what that is all about. Ron shovels food in his mouth at top speed. They are joined by Ginny's other siblings and their children. Hermione touches her own swollen belly as she watches the kids play. He sees the look of sullen jealousy on his wife's face. Just another typical Sunday. 

Harry should feel at home here. He should be grateful for the family he has. But his mind is racing with thoughts of the case. In this moment he finally realizes what he has been doing wrong, why he hasn't been able to get the incantation right. The incantation is ancient, rooted in deep, dark, and highly illegal magic. Harry needs to have dark feelings to use it. It is possible that he needs to direct his feelings of revenge toward locating the dark wizard that killed Draco, rather than simply casting clinically and hoping for the best. These spells are fickle at times, highly connected to the emotions behind it, much like unforgivables. He can barely contain his excitement-

"Isn't that right, darling?" Ginny's hand is on his arm. Everyone at the table is looking at him expectantly. It isn't hard to fake a smile as he responds. 

"Absolutely, sweetheart." And then, after barely a minute, "I've just made a breakthrough in the case, can I be excused?" Cheers erupt at the table, but Harry doesn't miss the sour look on Ginny's face.

"Honey, can't it wait? We are with family..." she begins.

"No way!" Ron says eagerly, "let him go Gin, we need this... Alright, mate. If you get this right, tomorrow is the day!" She has no choice but to nod, fighting back the tears Harry knows she will cry later this evening. But it still won't stop her from coming to him for the sex neither of them enjoys, to chase the dream of the baby neither of them can conceive. 

***

Harry sits anxiously at his desk, staring at his hands. Today in particular is one of the slowest days Harry has ever encountered. He waits with bated breath for his lunch time, as that will be the moment he finally takes down Draco's killer. He is 100% sure he has pinpointed the dark Wizard's location and there is a thrill coursing its way through his veins. Thinking of Draco is difficult though. It hurts with a raw, unhinged type of pain Harry has never experienced before. It makes this moment bittersweet.

"Don't worry," he says aloud to no one in particular, and yet a very specific someone at the same time, "I'm going to get him this time. I haven't forgotten you." He is attacked by a litany of emotions in this moment, each tethered to a specific memory. 

Harry looks over at the empty desk on the other side of his spacious office, the one that used to belong to Draco. He tried to keep it as intact as possible but eventually he couldn’t take the weird looks and sympathetic glances anymore, so he had allowed the desk to be cleaned out. He regrets this now, as he can barely remember how it used to look. Draco was a messy partner, so his desk was always cluttered and filled to the brim with paperwork. The paperwork was his so-called “least favorite” part of the job, yet he was so infuriatingly _good at it._ His notes were always succinct, neat, with the right amount of detail, and always grammatically correct. He was always the one to complete it for them when they were partners, under the guise that Harry was too slow, or not detailed enough, or whatever other excuse. But Harry knew the truth, he just wanted to spare Harry the trouble. He was selfless in small ways like that, ways he would never care to admit to Harry out loud. Unbidden, Harry suddenly remembers the day he and Draco were forced to work together.

_The first thing Harry begrudgingly notices, as Draco Malfoy comes sauntering into his office as though he owns the place, is that he is absolutely beautiful. He is tall and lean, blonde hair falling just above his ears in pin straight strands. His eyes are molten silver, with a dangerous glint that makes him appear almost ethereal._

_Malfoy looks him squarely in the eyes and says, “Potter, I hear that your Auror partners can’t keep up with you?” His eyes sparkle with mirth, the corner of his mouth tilts up in a crooked grin. Harry has trouble understanding…is he…making a joke? With him? Kingsley walks in behind him, shaking his head apologetically at Harry, making it a point to knock softly on the doorway, as if that will somehow teach Malfoy manners._

_“Now now, Malfoy, no need to be crass. There are just…creative differences.” Kingsley says, without really explaining anything. Harry sighs. So another one of his partners has complained about him. Harry thinks that really these people are jealous of him. And not even necessarily jealous of him, but perhaps his name and the fame that it brings, or his raw, natural talent. The fact that they would only ever be second best when it came to their partnership. Harry excels in this field, and it isn’t anything he will ever apologize for, or tone himself down for in order to make another person feel worthy. He sacrificed way too much in the war to be dumbing himself down in such a manner. Others simply need to keep up, although that is easier said than done, apparently._

_“And you think what…that Malfoy…?” Harry directs his question at Kingsley._

_“Malfoy recently graduated top of his class, and already has surpassed his own partner, three years his senior, in many aspects. I think that, perhaps, the two of you could form a complimentary partnership.” Shacklebolt looks almost desperate, the air hanging thickly between them as he presses his lips together in a thin line. Give him a chance, his eyes seem to say, because we are running out of partners for you and we are desperate_.

_Harry thinks for a moment. He hasn’t spoken to Draco Malfoy since the trials, in which he spoke out on his behalf. He knows Malfoy has ever since set out to prove himself, scoring nothing but E’s and O’s on his NEWTS in eighth year, where he kept mostly to himself, and most recently graduating with top marks as an Auror. He had taken a small break between graduating from Hogwarts and going into Auror training, which, Harry suspects, was spent working tirelessly to get back in good graces among the Malfoy inner circles. He imagines what it might have been like to train alongside of him, but shakes himself of the thought._

_“What about our….history?” He asks simply._

_"Surely we are both over that bullshit from school?" Malfoy answers, another smirk on the tip of his lips. And Harry laughs, shocked and delighted at the same time. He watches Malfoy’s lips break out into a full on grin at that, and thinks, okay, maybe he could give this a shot._

Harry snaps out of his flashback with tears in his eyes. He remembers the way their partnership soon proved to be unparalleled in the Auror world. Malfoy was dedicated, had worked so hard to erase his past wrongdoings. Despite the fact that he wasn’t well liked to begin with, he was so good at what he did that he soon commanded the respect of the other Aurors. Not to mention he was a fantastic partner; intuitive, reliable, and selfless. They were so good together, they were almost unstoppable. Draco's smile could disarm him in an instant. He remembers the skillful and strong way that he fought, his unwavering sense of justice…

"Alright mate, are you ready for this?" Harry wipes the tears furiously from his face and squares his shoulders before turning toward his red headed best friend. Ron stands tall and clean cut in the doorway. He has been instrumental in helping Harry with the “case,” mainly because he is his best friend but also because, in Ron's own words, "the blonde git had really started to grow on me." Harry clears his throat briefly and nods his head.

"Yeah." He says it with determined resolution. 

They lock eyes momentarily before springing into action. They had been planning their course of action for so long that both men know exactly what they need to do. Lunch time was just beginning, which gave them one hour before anyone would notice they were gone. They were not exactly authorized for their mission, but they each still did have permission to work on the case. They would just need to tell the story of how the wizard was apprehended a little differently from the truth.

Harry really doesn't care what happens to him after the fact. His tunnel vision is trained solely on vengeance. He is not thinking about how this could possibly ruin his career or even his life if the ministry were to investigate his actions too deeply. He feels a bit bad that he has dragged Ron into this, and his one regret would be if his best friend suffers any negative consequences. But they could throw Harry in Azkaban for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t matter to him in the slightest. He wouldn’t change his intentions right now for anything else in the world. Something very precious was stolen from him and he is going to do everything in his power to avenge it.

Their strides are wide and feet land heavy as they trudge out of the ministry and into the open air. It's sunny out, with the sky clearer than it has been in a really long time. Neither man stops to appreciate this fact. For Harry, it’s much too painful to think about the last time the sky was so sunny. Instead, they Apparate to an empty alleyway. 

Harry lands a little shaky on his feet. Ron clamps a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. He speaks, probably to fill the awkward silence between them as they wait their few minutes for the incantation spell to pinpoint and send them to their desired location. 

"Okay then. I'll ransack the place and see what I can find. You take him down. I know you want your vengeance, Harry." Ron's eyes are searching Harry's, and in the bright clear light of the day it's too much. Harry looks away.

"Here’s what is going to happen. He will put up a fight, and you'll have no choice. It's what we will say either way. I'm with you mate, 100%. I want to see that fucker pay for what he did." Ron finally removes his hand from Harry's shoulder and Harry releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He is secretly thrilled by Ron's words. Harry has never wanted anything more than this. Well, maybe one or two things, but both were too painful to think about. 

His wand lights up, signaling that the incantation has worked and they have about 30 seconds before being transported to the killer's exact location. If Harry succeeded in casting correctly, the bastard shouldn't see them coming and none of his wards should stand a chance. Harry's insides are burning with anticipation. He feels the familiar tug behind his belly button and then...

Everything happens much too fast. Harry finds himself standing inside of a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. A fireplace is burning, and soft yellows and oranges accent the walls. It smells of hot cocoa and it feels too hot and stuffy. It looks much too….homey to belong to a cold blooded killer. For a brief, terrifying moment, Harry wonders if perhaps there is a family -wife and children or even a family pet – also present within these walls. That would certainly make things… complicated.

" _Fuck!_ " Harry turns toward the gruff voice and finds himself face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy's killer, a dark wizard by the name of Augustus Dresden, who is scrambling to vanish documents that are strewn about on the floor. He is dressed in tattered old robes, with salt and pepper unkempt long hair, long beard and mustache to match. He is tall and thin, but appears almost a bit yellow, like he has been sick with some kind of horrible disease for a very long time. His dark, beady eyes are darting between Harry and his documents, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he works tirelessly to vanish it all.

Harry hesitates, swallows, and then begins hurling spells toward him, all easily deflected. He curses under his breath. He has no idea where Ron is. He remembers how powerless he was to help Draco when he had been hit by Dresden’s cutting curse, wonders if it will be the same this time around, wonders why he didn’t train better for this part. At this time it seems that Augustus is only concerned with vanishing his documents, and not so much at attacking Harry.  Harry is fuming at how easily the wizard blocks his spells. He notices now that all of the documents are gone. Harry is livid, that could have been amazing evidence for his case! 

His anger builds until he can feel his own magic in the air around him. This has happened a few times before, one of those times helping him to defeat Voldemort. The magic feeds his rage and vice a versa until he is nearly unstoppable. His magic cackles in a thick, palpable sort of way around him, like the static of electricity in the air right before lightning strikes on unsuspecting victims. His body strums to life as it courses shockingly through his veins. Harry is not sure how to control this gift he has, but he is happy it is happening now. Fueled by his anger, Harry finally says the words he has been wanting to say without a second thought. He aims his wand with perfect precision, feels the words with every fiber of his being, and more importantly, _wishes_ them with all his might and power.

"Avada Kedavra!" He watches the life drain from Augustus's shocked face. His veins are thrumming with energy as he slowly comes down from his high. Yes, this feels just as good as he has dreamt for so long. This is perfect, this very moment right here-

"P-potter..." The voice is so faint that Harry almost believes he imagined it. He whips his head around, only to be met with the most beautiful and horrifying sight he has ever laid eyes on. Well, second most horrifying, anyway. 

Draco is _right there_ , sitting on the floor, chained to a tiny corner of the living room. He is emaciated, with dark circles under his eyes, and long blonde hair that reaches down past his shoulders, but he is _alive_. He is dressed in semi-formal robes that don't seem to really fit snug enough. He is gorgeous, yet so fragile it tears Harry's heart apart.

"Are you real?" Draco asks, reaching a chained arm out toward Harry as if he were a lighthouse out at sea. Harry doesn't have a chance to answer before the blonde man promptly loses consciousness. Harry barely makes it in time to catch him. He is simultaneously ecstatic to be touching the other man and appalled at how little he weighs. He casts enervate several times, but it doesn’t seem to do much for him. Damn his shitty medic skills!

In this moment Ron finally comes rushing over. "Good job mate, that was so fast! I've found nothing though, this case is going to prove a bit difficult for us-- _shite_!" He stops dead at the sight before him. Harry is stood shaking like a leaf, holding a very tiny and very unconscious Draco Malfoy in his arms. They stare intently at each other before the red head finally asks-

"Is he alive?" To which Harry nods and lets out a slight sob. "How?" But Harry only shakes his head. 

"I've cast an enervate twice now and it hasn't woken him. He is breathing but it's very shallow.” Harry is so worried and terrified that now that Draco is actually alive, he is just going to die on him again. 

"Let’s get him to St. Mungo's right away," Ron starts. "Merlin almighty. How can this be? You saw him get ripped apart that day." Harry cringes at the memory. He shuts his eyes and squeezes Draco a little tighter.

"Harry, this is some kind of crazy dark magic..." Ron almost sounds as though he is in awe. Harry isn’t sure how he feels about that.

In an instant, both men Apparate to St. Mungo's. There is no time to deal with the mess they have left at the cottage. 


	2. One Thing More

_I need not one thing more_

_Oh wrap the ground around_

_Your gentle winding mind_

_Oh guard the pounding sound_

_-Purity Ring_

Chapter Two: One Thing More

Harry sits in the waiting room at St. Mungo's. He is tired and on edge all at the same time. Draco is stable, those are the only words he has heard from the mediwitch caring for him, but it's enough for Harry. He will wait until the blonde wakes up, even if it takes days. Yes, Harry isn't going anywhere, not until he can look into the silver orbs that have haunted his nightmares for months on end.

"It's 2:00am, mate..." Harry looks up to see Ron standing in front of him. He looks just as tired as Harry feels. He hands Harry a cup of coffee and takes the seat next to him. Harry takes a sip. It's cold, but it will do.

"Have you spoken to Ginny? She's probably worried sick." His friend continues. He slurps at his own coffee, blanching as the bitter, cold liquid touches his lips. 

_Shit._ Harry hasn't thought about Ginny. He hasn’t thought about anything since he discovered that Draco is alive. He sighs heavily. She will have to understand, won't she? She knows how important this is to Harry.

"I'll owl her..." He says distractedly. "Did you speak with Shacklebolt?"

"Yeah," Ron begins, "he doesn't seem to care about the specifics of how and why....he's just happy to have one of his best Aurors found alive. We're being heralded as heroes, Harry. It's bloody fantastic, isn't it?"

Harry sucks in a deep breath. He can literally feel the tension leaving his shoulders. He doesn't feel sorry for what he has done. In fact, he is more satisfied than he has ever been in his life. Even killing Voldemort pales in comparison to this feeling right now. For a brief moment he considers telling Ron about the missing documents. But he isn't sure if that's important, and besides, he just wants this all to be over. No loose ends. 

"Yeah well, being a hero isn't all it's cracked up to be. It sets the bar really fucking high, you know?" He responds instead, winking at his best friend playfully. Ron chuckles lightly and shakes his head.

"You'd know all about that..." He responds. A few minutes tick by, and both men are content to sit in silence before Ron speaks again. 

"Why don't you go home and get some rest? This turned out better than we could ever have hoped... plus, now that you’ve got your revenge and the added bonus of rescuing a very much alive Malfoy… maybe the nightmares will finally stop." Of course Ron knows about the nightmares. Ginny probably told Hermione about them. Harry wonders what else his friend knows about his personal life. It’s not that he directly is trying to keep secrets from Ron, it’s more so the fact that it’s embarrassing for him to admit these things at times.

Harry breathes in deep and decides to let it go. He is too consumed with ultimate happiness and pleasure to care about such mundane things as his friend knowing the intimate details of his sleep cycle. He considers, very carefully, how he would like to speak to said friend. He is his wife’s older brother, and that more than likely trumps their friendship a thousand times over. He needs to placate his friend so that he feels Harry has Ginny’s best interest in mind. He doesn’t want him to be suspicious of….well Harry isn’t sure what, exactly. He doesn’t know if things will be as they were. He hasn’t had a chance to speak with the flaxen haired man who is separated from him by just one tiny wall. He doesn’t know if he is even the same man, or how what he has been through must have affected him.

Harry knows wholeheartedly that it doesn’t matter. He can never stop loving Draco Malfoy. And now that the man is alive, well it complicates things all over again. Harry remembers how hard it was to live the lie he was a part of, and honestly they hadn’t been doing it for very long before the attack. Yet, every fiber of his being is alive with electricity. He wants to jump up for joy, he wants to sing out loud, he wants to laugh as loud as his lungs can handle. Instead, he looks at Ron with the kindest eyes he can muster.

“Don’t worry about me, mate. I couldn’t sleep even if I tried. I bet Ginny would be relieved to get a good night’s sleep, for once. I am going to owl her right away. Besides, Hermione needs you more than Ginny needs me, I gather. What if she has another one of her late night cravings, or gets another Charlie horse?” The smile he shares with his friend is sincere. He is happy that they are having a baby… Honestly, _he is._

Ron seems satisfied with this answer. Harry can tell he is very tired, and his shoulders seem to visibly relax.

“Alright,” he starts, “if you’re sure…it could be a few hours before Malfoy even wakes up.”

“That’s fine, really, go home…and Ron? Thank you, for everything.” Harry pours every ounce of gratitude into his words. His head is still in the clouds and he doesn’t think anything can bring him back down.

Ron simply nods and sighs. Harry knows that Ron understands how thankful he really is. He was there for all of the late nights, the (to his embarrassment) shed tears, and the tireless work to hunt down Augustus. Harry watches his retreating back until he can no longer see the taller man. He gets up and sends Ginny an owl:

_Gin-_

_Malfoy is alive! At hospital now with him. Will be home very late._

_Explain more later._

_-Harry_

Along the way back, Harry ponders what he will say to Draco when he wakes up. He more than likely will be confused, possibly even traumatized. Who knows what he has been through this last year. Harry shudders, remembering the state of him when he found him. He sits for what feels like at least a few more hours before the mediwitch approaches him.

“Are you Draco Malfoy’s family?” She asks, but Harry knows that there is no way he can be mistaken as a Malfoy. He looks at her, conveying this with a raised eyebrow. She says nothing, just stares blankly.

“Uh no, but I am Harry Potter, the Auror that rescued him.” Harry answers, scratching the back of his neck in anticipation.

She smiles, almost apologetically. Her eyes flicker to his forehead, where his scar lies hidden underneath his fringe.

“He’s awake,” she starts, and then a worried look crosses over her face, “but he is very confused and disoriented. Tread lightly, Mr. Potter.” Harry only nods, breath hitching at his throat, the thought of getting to look into swirling grey eyes again spurring him forward.

When he enters the room, Draco looks at him as though nothing else in the universe exists. His lips quirk up into the tiniest smile before drawing back into a thin, tight line. Harry feels his pulse quicken and he is overwhelmed with emotion. He chokes back a sob and draws in a shaky breath. Draco is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He is pale, skin stretched so thin he appears hollow, and he is visibly tired. His shoulders sag heavily into the mattress, and the dark circles under his eyes give the appearance of a skeleton. He is fragile and thin, yet his eyes are determined, fierce even. They are the same vibrant grey that Harry remembers, so bright they look silver in the harsh light of the room. Draco is strong. Harry knows he will be able to move past what has happened and live a normal life again. He just knows it. He can’t accept any other reality.

“Potter,” Draco says, and Harry tries not to flinch at the use of his last name, “I knew you would come for me.” Harry thinks Draco meant to be rye with this statement, but it only sounds sincere in his ears. He waits a moment, walking slowly toward Draco, not wanting to startle him.

“Draco I…”

“You kept me going,” Draco plunges forward, eyes glossing over with unshed tears, “I held out hope that you were looking, that even after all that time had passed, you were still looking for me.” His voice gets lower as he speaks and Harry has to crane his neck and quicken his step so he can hear him. Draco’s hands are twisting in his blanket tightly. He looks much younger in those few, vulnerable moments.

“Even when he did those horrible things, I kept think- thinking of you…” His voice cracks at that statement, and for a moment he looks embarrassed at his admission.

“Wait, Draco, what did he do to you?”

“No, he didn’t touch me, he couldn’t or he would break the ritual – it was all those children, he-“

“Hold on - slow down, ritual? Children? You need to start from the beginning... And Draco, just go at the pace you are comfortable with. I’m not in a hurry.” At this point, Harry has pulled a chair up close to Draco, placing his hand gently over his wringing ones. Draco is caught in some kind of despair and Harry’s heart aches. He doesn’t know how to fix it. Part of him wants to scoop him up and never let go, but the other part doesn’t want to cross some unknown boundary. This is uncharted territory. Draco stares down at their joined hands with wide eyes, almost panicked. He decides that since Draco doesn’t pull his hands away from him, this is a good start.

Draco takes in a deep breath and peers directly into Harry’s eyes. Harry is afraid of what he sees there, the raw vulnerability of a man who once wore a shielding mask so well. It is honestly terrifying. He worries for a moment that maybe Draco really is broken, and maybe he will never be okay again. There are so many conflicted emotions whirling in his mind, but the most worrying is the intense guilt he feels.

“I have to tell you something before you start,” he begins, his confession eating away at his insides, “ I watched you get torn apart by his cutting curse…I attended your funeral, said goodbye to your empty casket – Draco, I thought you were dead. The only thing I cared about was revenge…”

“But you still went after him. You didn’t give up on me.” Draco says slowly, “Potter he, he was using some seriously fucked up blood magic, from the ancient days.” His eyes have taken on a steely resonance that shocks Harry to his core. He is once again hopeful that all is not lost.

“Blood magic.” Harry repeats. He begins to piece some things together, but he is still very confused, “Draco,” He gives his hands a gentle squeeze, hopeful that it comes off as reassuring. Draco stares down at their hands blankly, blinking slowly before turning his attention back to Harry.

“Right,” Draco says, “I’m sorry Potter…I’m just…” He trails off. Harry only continues to look at him patiently, nodding reassuringly, rubbing his hands softly. Draco finally lets out a small chuckle. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“We don’t have to-“ Harry starts, but Draco cuts him off.

“No, I can tell you now, at least some of it. I just don’t want this to happen to anyone else,” Draco removes his hands from underneath Harry’s and runs both through his hair many times in rapid succession. When he places his hands at his sides, Harry tries not to think about how much that action hurts.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, “but if you need to stop, just let me know.”

“Like I said… I don’t remember the attack. I just remember waking up on the floor of the living room in that cabin. Potter he didn’t move me from there, not even once during the entire time he had me. And I was there for what, a year?” Harry nods, his heart is breaking into a million pieces and he is sure this isn’t even the worst of it. He needs to stay strong though, or risk both of them falling apart. Draco needs him to be strong in this moment and he can’t let him down.

“It felt like hours before he finally came barreling through the front door. And he- he had a child with him.” Draco looks away, blinking back tears. He begins to shake. Harry is unsure how to proceed. He doesn’t know what Draco needs. He used to know, but now he can’t be sure anymore. He doesn’t think he should try touching him again, not while he is remembering that. He doesn’t struggle for too long though, as after a moment, Draco steels himself and begins talking again.

“He aimed his wand at me and I felt this pain in my arm, and that’s when I saw that I was bleeding. He collected my blood in a cup and then healed me. The child – he was a little boy, and I remember his face so clearly. He must have been 8 or 9 – he was so scared. He just kept looking at me with this fear in his eyes and then-“ Draco shuts his eyes, breathes in deep, places his hands over his face in despair.

“Augustus he – pulled out his wand, aimed it at the boy – and he-he slit his throat right in front of me. He collected his blood in a bucket, added the cup with my blood in it, mixed it together with some kind of incantation, and started drinking it. He laughed at me the entire time because I screamed… I couldn’t help it. I was terrified and disgusted.”

“But, I don’t understand…” Harry starts, but stops himself and nods for Draco to continue.

“He did this once every few weeks. He took a little of my blood and drained a child of theirs. He stored it and drank it until he ran out and would need more. He would always do it in front of me and then just leave their bodies there, rotting, until the smell got to him or he killed the next one. And sometimes he would – place them right next to me, just for the shits and giggles. The first one, he sat him up next to me and told me if I even tried to push him away he would kill me.” Draco’s eyes are dark and hollow, fixated on nothing in particular as he recalls the brutal details.

“He was studying this complicated spell Potter, it was all part of some kind of ancient ritual. He wouldn’t talk to me for days on end, but when he did it was out of boredom, and he would tell me little tidbits. Like the fact that my pure blood was helping to “heal” his, and that he had to start the spell with a complicated curse that tore me apart but kept me alive. He said it took months to get that right, which he had to practice on a lot of innocent people. And another time he told me he “owed” the spell, and that’s why the children had to die. Blood for blood, he would say. He was ill, I think, and the worst part is…over time, he seemed to be improving, like the spell was actually fucking working.”

Draco stops to look at him, waits for some kind of response. Harry’s mind is racing. That’s a lot of information and there is at least one inconsistency. There aren’t any missing children that he can think of, yet according to Draco, there should be quite a few. So Harry voices that opinion, which, seems to be a bit of a mistake.

“Check again, Potter, I’m not lying.” Okay yeah, judging by the dark look Draco is giving him, Harry deduces it was a pretty big mistake to doubt him. Draco probably feels very vulnerable right now. He doesn’t want Draco to think that Harry thinks he is crazy. He switches tactics.

“I’ll look into it. Listen, this is good enough right now, we can continue later this afternoon, yeah? Get some rest for now.” He reaches out for Draco’s hands again. Draco pulls away as if burned. Harry stares at his own hands, resting dejectedly on the empty stretch of bed next to Draco.  He can’t help but think about the first time they ever held hands…

_Draco stares down at the file in front of him on his overly cluttered desk. He sighs a bit, fidgets, sets his mouth in a deep frown. Harry can’t help but notice, as this is usually what he does when something is really bothering him. It’s late in the evening, both men having worked some serious overtime for this particular case. A mother and child had been killed in their home about a month ago. Unfortunately, as these things usually go, it had been the father of the child, a Deatheater sympathizer who was trying to prove to a few other sympathizers that he was evil enough to start something up again._

_The child, an 18 month old infant girl, had been strangled to death. The mother, a 28 year old seamstress, was raped brutally by multiple men (all part of the Deatheater copycat group, and all, thankfully, apprehended by the dynamic Auror duo) before they used the killing curse on her. Draco had been the first on the scene, the first to see their lifeless faces. This case in particular struck close to home, as, while Draco didn’t talk about it much, Harry knows that there were similar things going on in his home while the Dark Lord occupied it during the war. Harry clears his throat, interrupting the glazed look that Draco is giving the paperwork while still being unable to fill it out. He looks up at him, liquid mercury filled with heat and intensity._

_“Draco,” he says delicately, taking the few strides over to stand next to the seated blonde. “Maybe I should file the paperwork for this one.” He says it softly, but tries his best not to seem as though he is offering any kind of pity, as Draco absolutely hates being pitied. “You do all the other ones, and clearly you’re tired. Why don’t you head home? I’ll take care of it.” He expects some kind of snarky comment about his lack of skills when it comes to filling out paperwork, or a deflection of some sort. Malfoy is not exactly an open book when it comes to emotions; he will stop at nothing to cover them up in the name of indifference. But instead, he just gives Harry a soft look, almost…appreciative._

_“Yeah, that would be great, thanks, Potter.” Harry thinks for a second, and then, rather rashly, places his hand over Draco’s on the desk. Draco’s eyes flicker to his hand on top of his for the briefest moment, and then, rather than pull away or stiffen, he places his other hand on top of Harry’s and gives a gentle squeeze. He releases the pressure but not Harry’s hand, and then closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. The moment seems to last forever, as they just hold hands quietly. Harry doesn’t even dare to move a muscle, as his breath quickens and heart begins to race-_

“Potter…” Draco interrupts his reverie, “Harry…it’s not you. I just…haven’t been touched by anyone alive in a really long time. Your hands are…warm. It’s too weird, right now.” He blanches, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Harry’s jaw hangs open and Draco looks away from him. What in the actual _fuck._ He chokes back tears, tries to be reassuring, but inside he is fuming. But Merlin Dresden was such a _fucking prick._ He barely wants to know what else Draco had to go through. He casts a cooling charm on his hands, reaches for Draco’s again.

Draco lets him this time.

*******

On his way out of the hospital room, Harry runs into Narcissa Black Malfoy. Her soft lavender robes billow around her at the waist, pulled tight above it in a fetching manner. Her eyes are sparkly silver, the same as Draco’s, and Harry realizes just how much he looks like his mother. Everyone says he is a mirror image of his father but that’s not the case at all. They share the same angular features, hair and eye color, even the same mouth shape (that delicate bow and arrow that Harry just can’t forget). She tries to be regal as she thanks him, but there are tears in her eyes and her mirth is palpable. He tells her that it wasn’t a problem, and that he would have stopped at nothing to find Draco’s killer regardless. It’s the truth, after all. He is pulled into a surprised embrace, and it’s tighter than he thinks should be humanly possible, but somehow not uncomfortable.

“Have you finished your questioning?” She asks him as they part.

“Oh uh…yes, for now.” Harry says awkwardly.

“Okay, then kindly do move out of the way. I want to see my son.” She tells him. There is a glint in her eyes that makes him think maybe she is joking, but the way the mediwitch is glancing at them nervously makes him think she isn’t.

“Did you not allow her to see him while I was in there?” He asks the mediwitch, commanding her attention instantly. This one is different from the one who let him in originally to see Draco. The previous one had seemed caring and kind – this one, not so much. She shuffles a bit before righting herself. Her dark red hair is tied back into a tight bun, bright green eyes covered in thick make up as she looks back up at him. She is curvy and a bit plump, and awfully short.

“Well yes…” She starts, “you were on official Auror business. I just didn’t think you should be disturbed.” She perks up, as if her answer would satisfy Harry. It served to simply do the opposite.

“This woman has spent the last year thinking her son died a horrible death,” he says darkly, “and yet you keep her from seeing him because he was talking to me? At what point did I tell you I was conducting any type of official Auror business?”

“Well I just assumed-“

“Exactly,” he states, “Please, don’t use me as an excuse to mistreat a Malfoy.” His words are pure vitriol, and the mediwitch has the sense to avert her eyes. She stumbles out an apology with tears in her eyes, and shuffles away again. Harry sighs. He hadn’t _meant_ to be so mean to her. But he knows it has been rough for Mrs. Malfoy this past year. He looks over to see a look of intense approval aimed at him from the fair haired witch. She nods at him, and he blushes, and then the moment passes and she steps past him to get to Draco.

Harry is surprised to find Ginny up and waiting for him when he arrives home. The first thing he notices is that she does not look pleased. Harry knows this because her displeased look has become the new normal for them. He sighs and readies himself for yet another argument. Ginny sits at the table with an empty mug in front of her. She is holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hands, most likely the letter he sent her. Her face is tear streaked, hair pulled back into a messy pony tail, with red locks falling out in random places and tucked behind her ears. She looks pale in the dim light from the hallway that bleeds into the darkened dining room.

“Hey,” he says softly, “you didn’t have to wait up for me.” He hopes his words will placate her in some way.

“You could have been hurt,” she starts, “I knew you were working on locating Dresden but I had no idea you were actually planning to _arrest him today.”_ Her words grow louder and angrier as she speaks. Harry tries to get a word in but she waves him off and continues, “Harry, I had to find out from Hermione that you killed a man today. The _look_ she gave me when I was confused, the way she placed her hand on her belly with pity… And then…all I get is this letter? With a few words on it?” She shows him the crumpled paper, holds it like it is the most offensive thing in the world.

“Gin – I didn’t want you to worry-“ he starts, but she stands up abruptly, slams the paper down on the table loudly.

“No, Harry, that’s an excuse and you know it!” She screams.

“Honey, listen, please calm down-“ He takes a few steps closer to her, arms outstretched.

“Harry… do you even remember what we were supposed to do today?” She asks sullenly, backing away from him, fresh tears falling down her cheeks in thick, perfectly round droplets. Harry’s heart sinks into his stomach as he tries desperately to remember just how terribly he has fucked up. He knows it’s not sex – Ginny’s ovulation has already passed. He can’t for the life of him think of anything else.

“Do you remember…Sunday, just before you excused yourself? ‘ _Absolutely, sweetheart.’“_ She mimics him angrily, jarring his memory. He remembers saying the words, remembers that he wasn’t listening when he agreed to whatever it was.

“We were supposed to go see Annie today.” She whispers, wiping at her cheeks before wrapping her arms around herself. Well fuck, Harry is the worst sodding husband on the entire planet. He’s been so wrapped up in his own shit that he hasn’t stopped to consider that his wife has been going through a lot as well. Annie is Ginny’s best childhood friend. They grew up together. Annie has been sick for a long while, is hospital ridden, something terminal. Harry can’t remember what exactly the illness even is. He hasn’t been to see Annie even once, although Ginny has really been wanting him to lately.

“Merlin, Ginny, I’m so sorry,” he starts, and he means it, for once. But she is shaking her head.

“I’ve tried to be there for you, been so supportive, Harry, but you’ve been so distant and self-absorbed. You don’t talk to me anymore and I-I don’t know how much more I can take.” She turns away from him, begins to walk toward their bedroom. Harry runs a hand through his hair.

“Please-“  He pleads, shuffling to catch up to her.

“Get some rest,” she tells him, “there are some pillows and a blanket on the couch for you.” With those words, she proceeds to walk down the hallway before slamming their bedroom door. Harry has really bollixed things up this time. He feels so awful but he is so exhausted, he figures letting Ginny have some distance would probably be for the best. Better not to approach her when she has made her expectations clear.

He stumbles into the living room and finds a fresh pair of boxers and pajama bottoms sitting on the couch along with the pillow and blanket. Even when she is royally pissed, his wife still finds ways to take care of him. No dinner though, and while his stomach is rumbling pitifully, he is too tired to do anything but cast a quick cleaning charm, change his clothes, and pass out unceremoniously onto the couch.

_Harry is drunk. His hands are covering his mouth as he giggles at something that Draco, who is also drunk, has just said. Draco cracks up as well, tries to stand before swaying a little bit. He promptly sits back down in the booth they are sharing at the Leaky. They have been out celebrating yet another amazing job they’ve done solving a case. They are unstoppable lately, and it is a bit of a thing that people can’t stop talking about. Draco is so fucking gorgeous like this. He is happy, carefree, the mask let down for a moment due to his inebriation. His cheeks are pink from drinking and his Auror robes are a bit disheveled. Blonde hair frames his chiseled jaw as he hiccups around another loud giggle. Harry has never heard him giggle before, but he quite likes it, thinks he would love to hear it again in the future._

_“I think we should call it a night,” Harry says, trying to be serious, “it’s getting late.” He doesn’t want the night to end, but knows that it has to._

_“You’re right,” Draco seems a little put off by this as he agrees, “the missus will probably worry about you.” He averts his eyes, sets his mouth into a thin line. Harry doesn’t like this look, wants him to smile again. His drunken mind supplies a solution that his sober heart knows probably isn’t the best idea._

_“Maybe I could come over for a sobering potion? Ginny doesn’t like me to get drunk.” He says hopefully. Draco seems to perk up at this, a slight smile forming on his lips again. Harry feels like he could stay like this forever, staring at Draco, who is slightly smiling at the prospect of Harry coming over to his flat._

_“Yeah, Potter, that’s fine, I’ve got slenty to pare.” Harry snorts as Draco falls into another fit of giggles. “I mean, plenty to spare.” He says around a mouthful of air. Draco is exceptionally good at brewing potions, and Harry has often wondered why he didn’t become a potions master. Part of him knows it has something to do with Snape’s death, but they’ve never breached the subject before. Harry doesn’t plan to ruin this moment by bringing it up now._

_“It’s too dangerous to Apparate, right?” Harry asks, as both men stumble to their feet. Draco considers this for a bit before finally nodding, although he looks a bit confused himself._

_“That sounds right,” he supplies, grabbing onto Harry to steady himself as they step out into the brisk, night air. Harry’s heart pounds furiously in his ribcage at the contact. Somehow, they manage to find their way to Draco’s flat, which is thankfully not too far from the Leaky, mostly unharmed, having leaned heavily on each other the entire way. Harry’s nerve endings are on fire at this point, and Draco looks a bit worse for wear as well._

_Draco clumsily shuts the door behind them, sways gently as he turns around to face Harry. And Harry knows that he shouldn’t do what he is about to do right now. He should just take the sobering potion and go home to his wife. It’s wrong on so many levels, he thinks, as he steps closer to the slightly taller man, backs him gently into the door. This isn’t who Harry thought he would ever be, isn’t something he thought he could ever bring himself to do, despite what he has been feeling inside for months on end. Draco’s breath hitches, he looks slightly alarmed but doesn’t try to push Harry away._

_Harry places both of his hands on either side of Draco’s head against the door, leans into him so that their chests are pressed tightly together. “Potter,” Draco whispers, “what are you doing?” He looks into Harry’s eyes, his own pleading with Harry for something, but Harry can’t discern whether it’s for Harry to continue or back off. To hell with it, Harry thinks, and then he plunges forward, pressing his lips against Draco’s, letting out a strangled moan at the contact. Draco’s hands wrap around his waist, pulling him closer somehow, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Their tongues slide together hotly and it’s the most amazing thing Harry has ever felt in his entire life. Nothing has ever excited him the same way that kissing Draco Malfoy has. For a second he considers just how crazy that thought is, but then Draco is moaning against his mouth, and that’s all Harry can think about anymore._

_Their erections press together as Harry grinds against Draco, his hands tangling into soft blonde locks as Draco’s reach down to grab at Harry’s arse to help him grind harder. Harry trails kisses down Draco’s neck, hands sliding down to unbutton his robes. He disconnects briefly from Draco’s neck to push them off of his shoulders. He pulls Draco’s tie free, fumbles to get it up and off of him, pulls him back into a heated kiss as he begins to work the buttons of his vest. Draco’s hands tangle in his hair before sliding to his chest and beginning to unbutton his own robes._

_They make fast work of each other’s clothes, despite their drunken states, before colliding together once again, erections pressing against each other as hands rake across naked skin and lips suck and kiss at tender spots. Harry feels the goose bumps on Draco’s soft skin as he runs his hands over his chest, one stopping to tweak a pink nipple absently as the other slides down, down to grab at their erections and hold them together as he thrusts against him. Draco gasps for breath, one hand squeezing at Harry’s round ass cheek while the other wraps itself around his neck and pulls him in for another kiss. The delicious friction is almost too much to bear for Harry’s drunken mind. They break the kiss, and Draco leans his head onto Harry’s shoulder, breath coming out in short, hot puffs against his skin._

_“Oh fuck, Potter, don’t stop,” Draco moans, before pressing his mouth to Harry’s sensitive skin. This spurs Harry on, who begins to thrust faster and harder, feeling the mixture of their bodily fluids as it lubricates his hand further. He feels the heat building in his belly, knows he is close, thinks Draco is probably getting there too, based on the filthy things coming out of his mouth as he encourages Harry to keep going. Draco’s pale skin is stretched tight over his lean muscles as he thrusts forward to meet Harry halfway, and Harry is struck by his beauty as he tries to savor this moment just a little longer._

_He lets out a sharp cry as his orgasm rips through him, feels Draco’s muscles tense as he moans into his own orgasm against him. Their thrusts become sloppy and messy as they ride the pleasure out until they are spent, panting against each other, slicked with sweat and each other’s fluids. Harry tries to slow his breathing, is unsure how to proceed from this point. He is starting to sober up, realizes what he has done. A line was crossed and Harry doesn’t know if he can ever go back._

_And then the strangest thing happens. Draco lurches forward roughly against him as though he has been struck by something. He looks at up at Harry fearfully, and the background changes, and Harry thinks that this is all wrong. This isn’t how this memory is supposed to go - they are suddenly standing in Diagon Alley together. The weather is beautiful as Draco’s limbs begin to slowly detach themselves from his body. He is bleeding so much- but no, this is all wrong - and Harry can’t help himself:_

_He screams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think.


	3. The Pounding Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few liberties regarding the Wizarding World for the sake of the plot. Please, just go with it ;)
> 
> Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

_Breathe in your fiery air_

_Oh wrap the ground around_

_Give back an hungrier stare_

_Oh guard the pounding sound_

_-Purity Ring_

Chapter 3: The Pounding Sound

Harry wakes himself up to his own screaming, nearly falling off of the couch in the process. He blinks owlishly as he takes a deep breath, fumbling around for his glasses. He has never experienced something like this before, the way one of his most precious memories morphed into his most hated one all in the same dream. Draco being alive must really have fucked with his head, not that he’s complaining. He half expects Ginny to be standing there next to him, as she often is whenever he wakes up in a fit. But she is nowhere to be seen. Serves him right, probably.

He finds fresh pressed clothes and Auror robes waiting for him on the coffee table, folded neatly. As if he needs to feel _even guiltier_ , somehow. He brews himself a strong cup of coffee, and then grabs the quickest shower of his entire life. Right before he heads off to work, he glances at the bedroom he and Ginny are supposed to be sharing. The lights are on inside. For a single moment, he considers trying to go inside and talk to her. But he knows it will only escalate into another fight at this point, and he is honestly too tired for this right now. He turns away and steps out into the light of day.

Surprisingly, Draco is awake, sitting up in his bed, when Harry steps into his room. His long hair is slightly damp, as if he has just finished showering. He looks a little more refreshed now, as if a few hours of good sleep could somehow negate all that he was put through. His lips quirk again into that tiny half smile before resuming the frown he was wearing before he laid eyes on Harry. Merlin, he is so fucking beautiful, Harry can barely stand it. Harry glances away, eyes landing on the empty vial of dreamless sleep draught on the bedside table. So yeah, it was probably pretty good sleep, actually.

“Yeah I know,” Draco says, completely misreading Harry’s strange look, “I plan to get it cut as soon as I am released from here.” His attempt at humor. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Harry cracks a smile, and Draco seems to relax.

“I really like it, actually.” He replies, and he means it. Draco stiffens back up ever so slightly, eyes taking on a forlorn sort of look, lips frowning again.

“How are you feeling?” Harry changes the subject, hoping to lighten the mood back up. He is confused as to what he might be doing wrong, but desperately wants to make amends.

“I’m alright, I think.” Draco says, and Harry knows it’s a lie, judging from the way Draco is chewing his bottom lip worriedly.

“Good,” Harry starts, “I’ve um… I’ve got some follow up questions for you, from our conversation last night.”

“Well, Potter, first…have you turned in any written notes on this case yet?” Draco responds, eyebrows raised in question.

“Uh, no, not yet…”

“Ha, of course you haven’t,” Draco replies, smiling from ear to ear, looking at Harry as if he knows him better than Harry knows himself. Harry melts underneath that gaze. And as much as he is loath to admit, it’s more than likely true.

“Well you know I’m still taking notes and investigating…” He trails off, smiling back at him.

“Right. But I’m glad…because…well, have you told anyone about the documents?”

The documents. Harry’s heart sinks into his stomach. Of course, Draco was _there_ and he saw _everything_. Harry was hoping that they didn’t mean anything. That he could conclude this investigation with a nice, tidy bow and call it a day. No complications, no loose ends. Why waste any more time on that fucking bastard when he is already dead? He thinks desperately about how he wants to answer this question. Just how much did Draco see? It really did look like Harry was just defending himself, right? He wracks his brain at the memory of it, but truthfully it seems so foggy and far away, despite it having just been the day before.

“No,” he says finally, face scrunching with worry as he raises his eyes back over to Draco’s.

“Good, because there’s something I need to tell you, that you can’t tell anyone else, not even Weasley.” Draco’s eyes are dark and smoldering. Harry holds his breath, nods his head. “I think Dresden was working with a partner.” Draco says quietly, eyes boring holes into Harry’s soul. “And I think…I think it was someone from the Ministry. Potter, you can’t trust anyone.” He finishes, at Harry’s lack of response.

Harry just stares at him for a moment, unresponsive, until Draco starts to squirm uncomfortably. Then, he asks, “How do you figure?” Merlin, but Harry could be such an idiot at times.

“He was conferring with someone, through the floo. And sending documents _somewhere._ He would get notes in return, Potter, I saw a few times when he thought I was asleep, but I could never quite make out the words. So those documents weren’t banished, they were sent to his partner, I bet.” Harry starts to wonder about some of the things Draco is telling him. Perhaps he is confused, as the Mediwitch mentioned when he first woke up. To think that someone from the Ministry, specifically, was helping Augustus…that seemed to Harry to be a touch of paranoia. And then the whole thing about the kids.

Harry treads lightly, asking, “But what makes you think it was someone from the Ministry?”

“Potter, I don’t know for sure, but it’s possible, isn’t it? We can’t risk it. Plus, whoever it was had access to a lot of information on Dark Magic.”

“Ron helped so much with finding Dresden…with saving you, you know that, right?” Harry says to him, suddenly feeling like maybe he needed to discuss some things with his best friend. It’s possible that Harry is in over his head, at this point.

“We can’t risk it.” Draco says again, “ _please.”_ Harry sucks in a breath at the pleading in Draco’s voice.

“Okay,” he says, “I won’t tell anyone.” Draco nods, visibly relaxing.

“Okay,” Draco repeats, “what are your questions, Potter?” Harry really wishes Draco would stop using his last name. He grabs his notepad and self-inking quill out of his robe pocket and takes a seat across from Draco. He doesn’t make any attempt at grabbing his hand or anything, as he understands there are boundaries for this sort of thing; for asking Draco to bear his soul and recount the horrors he has experienced.

“First off, what can you tell me about these kids? Any identifying features, was there a pattern of some sort?” Harry asks. The kids are the most perplexing part of the story.

“Ummm well, no pattern, really. They were all pretty young, I’d say under 13. There was no specific skin color or identifiers that he went for…but, come to think of it, they were all dressed pretty strangely.”

“Okay, that’s good, strangely how?”

“No robes…just t-shirts, jeans, that sort of thing…I think, I think they were Muggles, Potter.”

Ah. So that makes sense. Of course there were no Wizarding children missing because Dresden didn’t go after them. He was taking Muggles. Which only serves to confuse Harry even more, if that’s even possible. Why did Dresden need a Wizard for one part of the ritual but then Muggle children for another?

“Is there anything at all that you can tell me about this blood magic that could help us understand what the ritual might have been?” Harry plunges, full speed ahead.

Draco seems to think for a moment, eyes glazing over in that same perturbing way they had earlier in the day. He starts ticking things off on his fingers as he speaks, words going almost a mile a minute.  “I know for a fact that Dresden needed a pureblood Wizard of ancient lineage for the ritual. “Pure blood for pure blood” he would always say. And he needed me to think I had died in order to start the process, which is why he used the cutting curse. The cutting curse caused me to bleed a lot, which I think he took a deep sort of pleasure in, but I’m not entirely convinced the cutting curse itself had to be used for it, just the part where I had to believe I was dead. “

He takes a quick breath and continues, “He always used a Muffliato whenever he cast the incantation, and he was very careful about that. Not once did I hear the words he used. But…there was always this sort of pounding sound. It was awful, like the beating of huge, amplified drums or something. And there was something else…besides what I told you about the blood needing someone else’s blood, I remember that he once told me he needed the blood to be ‘afraid.’ Which makes sense because he always…” Draco takes a longer, shuddering breath at that point.

“It’s okay-“ Harry starts to say, overwhelmed with emotion, but Draco continues speaking at the same time.

“He liked to really scare the kids, and me. I spent most of the time terrified, until one day I tried to put on a brave face. So to punish me he…he made Polyjuice. He tortured this little girl, and the whole time she thought it was _me_ doing it to her. Mine was the last face she saw before she died, the face of the man who killed her. He used Cruciatus on her…she was tiny, Potter, and then he used his wand to slice off pieces of her skin, one by one, until she finally bled out. He had her in this giant metal tub, it looked so cold and uncomfortable…” Draco wraps his arms around himself, lowers his head onto his chest, closes his eyes, seemingly caught up in a torrent of pain and memories.

“I watched myself _kill_ a child.” He whispers. And then his body begins to tremble, his breaths becoming shallower and quicker until he is panting in a frenzy. “I…I can’t breathe!” Draco shouts in a panic, thrashing about on his bed, a wide and terrified look in his eyes. Harry is shocked, angered, and completely desolate. He wishes he had a time turner so he could go back and kill Dresden over and over. He would do it the same way Dresden did it to those kids, torturous and fear inducing.  Not just for them but for Draco, too, so Draco could have the satisfaction of watching him die over and over.

A Mediwitch bursts in to the room then, the same one who first spoke to Harry when Draco woke up. “Sorry, Mr. Potter, I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” She shouts, and Harry barely stumbles out of her way in time as she makes her way to Draco. She casts a calming charm on him, starts to say soothing things, and tells him to breathe. She shoots Harry a bit of a glare at that point, almost a warning, _I told you to go easy on him._ Harry thinks he quite likes her. She seems to really have Draco’s best interest at heart.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, “I’ll be right outside, I promise.”

***

It feels like hours before the Mediwitch comes out to get him again. She tries to smile but Harry can tell she is not the least bit happy. She runs her hands through her hair and gives him a pointed look after standing in silence for a few moments. He stammers out an apology, and he means it, because he feels absolutely terrible. He tells her he has been giving this whole thing some thought and he feels it may be good to get Draco out for a bit, somewhere nice, to talk about anything other than his recent experience. He knows of a great restaurant, a fancy, posh French place that used to be one of Draco’s favorites. It may help him get his appetite back up, since he hasn’t been eating well since he’s been up.

“That’s a great idea,” the Mediwitch agrees, “he’s had a calming draught and it should last a few hours. But Mr. Potter? Please get him back here in one piece. And if anything happens, promise me you will bring him back immediately.”

“Of course. It will just be lunch. I won’t mention the case at all.” Harry nods emphatically.

 “Alright then.” She sighs, “You have one hour!” She says to his retreating back as he rushes to get to Draco once again.

Draco seems delighted at the prospect of being able to get out, if even for a little while. He is much more calm and relaxed, his shoulders are no longer tensed up and there is a soft, happiness to his features as opposed to the sharp, tense look he had been wearing earlier in the day.

“Come on come on _come on!”_ Harry says, bouncing from one foot to the other, as Draco rummages through his expanded wardrobe of clothes to find something to wear. Narcissa had brought it to him. It was charmed to shrink or expand as needed. He scoffs at Harry, but it’s halfhearted, followed by a genuine smile, one that melts Harry’s heart once again.  He finally decides on a set of light blue robes, gives Harry an odd look until Harry turns away from him so he could change.

“No peeking, Potter,” Draco jokes, and Harry chuckles lightly. He finds that it is quite difficult, actually, not to peek, but does his best to remain respectful. He doesn’t want to do anything to fuck up this sort of peaceful thing they have going on. He enjoys that Draco is smiling at him and joking with him, and he desperately wants the other man to just be happy. It almost feels like… _before._ But he knows there may be a long road ahead of them to ever get to that again. Harry doesn’t have time to dwell on this though, because the next thing he knows Draco is speaking.

“Okay, I’m ready.” And Merlin, he is so gorgeous in his outfit, it steals Harry’s breath away. The robes are a bit big on him, but otherwise he is absolutely stunning. It occurs to Harry that it probably doesn’t matter what Draco would have chosen, he is beautiful in anything. He gets choked up at the thought, overwhelmed suddenly with a flood of emotions. The fact that Draco is standing right there, that he’s alive. It feels like a new beginning of some sort. Harry’s heart swells with the hope of it all.

“Potter? Close your mouth.” Draco drawls, a slight smirk playing at his features.

“You look…” Harry lets the statement hang in the air.

“I know,” Draco replies, “and I might keep the hair, after all.”

When they arrive at the restaurant, Draco raises an eyebrow and stares at Harry incredulously. “This place Potter, really?” He immediately takes his robes off, revealing grey trousers, and a long sleeved sweater matching the blue color the robes were. Harry’s mouth waters at the sight.

He thinks for a moment that he’s fucked things up, somehow. “I thought you liked this place?” He asks, worrying his top lip with his bottom teeth. Draco watches the motion with a strange look on his face, one that is oddly familiar, and one that sends heat coiling up through Harry’s abdomen to his cheeks.

“I do but…don’t you remember the last time we were here?” Draco’s voice is husky, and it sends strange sensations vibrating throughout Harry’s entire body. He does remember, quite suddenly and quite vividly, the last time they visited this particular establishment…

_“This place is so unbelievably posh, Draco, of course you like it here!” Harry laughs, looking up from his plate of food, the name of which he can’t pronounce. He would never admit it out loud, but it tastes phenomenal._

_“Oh piss off,” Draco responds around a mouthful of his own food, but his eyes sparkle with mirth. “It’s also a Muggle place, so there is a lot of privacy here. That’s why I chose it, you wanker.”_

_Harry has the decency to look sheepish. He grabs at his wine glass, already half empty, and takes another gulp of the tart liquid. He watches Draco mirror the action, already feeling giddy from the wine and the ambience of the fancy restaurant. The people here are kind, and best of all, they have no idea who Harry is. The waiter had recognized Draco right away, but that is because he is a frequent costumer, not because he is a Malfoy. It’s quite refreshing, really._

_“No seriously though, it’s a really nice place,” Harry amends, “thanks for bringing me here.”_

_“Sure thing,” Draco blushes, looks away, and clears his throat. Harry finds him absolutely adorable. He’s never seen Draco act this way before, like a schoolboy with a crush. He can’t suppress a smile from forming on his lips as he looks over to his food again. He concentrates on eating, reminds himself to chew and swallow. He is excited that Draco has initiated this outing, and he doesn’t want to mess anything up._

_“You know what else?” Draco says suddenly, drawing Harry’s attention back to him, “they have really nice bathrooms here too.”_

_“Yeah?” Harry asks, a bit confused._

_“Oh yes, super clean and very….private.” He lets the last word slide out of his mouth languidly, and it’s the filthiest thing to Harry’s ears. His cock jumps to attention at those words. He swallows the gulp of wine he didn’t realize he was holding in his mouth, and almost chokes on it. He wipes his mouth distractedly with a napkin. Draco’s eyes are sparkling again and Harry’s cock couldn’t possibly get any harder, yet somehow it does._

_“I don’t know about you, Potter, but I need to use the loo.” Draco stands and stretches, tight muscles straining underneath his clothes. Harry’s eyes rake over his body hungrily before he stands abruptly as well, almost knocking his chair over in the process. Draco snorts and covers it up with a cough. Some of the other patrons in the restaurant have turned their attention to the two men. Draco simply nods at them and turns to lead the way to the restroom._

_He’s not wrong, Harry thinks, as he follows Draco through a tiny, dim hallway and into a large, single bathroom. There is no mark on the door, and it almost seems hidden. Its walls are painted in deep greys and blacks, with a urinal on one end, and toilet on the other. On the opposite wall there is a charcoal colored couch, and an end table with different lotions, soaps, and other toiletries. It’s all super posh, and Harry would have laughed at how ridiculous it all is if he weren’t so turned on. He can’t even think straight, and he is almost dizzy with excitement._

_“This bathroom is only for the most elite customers.” Draco says softly, locking the door behind them, “I’ve never seen anyone else use it before.” He chuckles, “it’s basically mine, I reckon.” And it really isn’t all that funny, but Harry laughs much too loudly, the sound of it echoing off the walls. He covers his mouth with his hands, wide eyes meeting his as Draco suppresses his own laughter._

_But then Draco is stepping closer and closer to him, and Harry’s mouth goes dry, the laughter dying on his lips. He allows Draco to grab his hand and walk him over the couch. Draco mutters a cleaning spell on it, which Harry thinks is quite sweet considering it didn’t really look all that dirty to begin with, before pushing Harry down onto it. Draco follows, straddling his lap and dipping down to capture Harry’s lips in his own. Harry moans, grabbing Draco’s arse and pulling him closer, nearly causing the other man to collapse onto him. But Draco doesn’t miss a beat, he pulls at Harry’s hair with one hand, angling him upwards so he can kiss him easier, while the other hand slides down to Harry’s belt. Draco trails kisses over Harry’s jaw and down his neck as he unfastens his belt and begins to undo his trousers._

_And Harry can’t help himself, he grabs Draco by the neck and pulls him back up for a hungry kiss, moaning as Draco’s hand slides inside of his boxers. He wraps warm fingers around Harry’s cock and begins to pump, pace agonizingly slow. Harry breaks away from the kiss to gasp for air, reveling in the contact. He begins to make fast work of Draco’s shirt, popping open the buttons, trying his best to concentrate, trailing kisses on every bit of exposed skin as he does so. Draco groans, before pushing Harry’s hands away, pushing him back against the couch, and sliding down between Harry’s legs. And oh fuck, he is pulling Harry’s pants and boxers down, placing kisses on his thighs. Harry’s hands move straight to Draco’s soft locks of hair, unable to look away as Draco dips his head and takes him into his mouth for the very first time. Harry has received head before, but it has never felt like this. Harry feels the hot, wet friction of Draco’s mouth as he bobs his head up and down and thinks he can die this way. Pleasure and heat coil deep in his abdomen, shooting down his spine as his orgasm rips itself through him._

_“Draco-“ he tries to warn him, tries to push him away, but Draco remains locked in place, sucking him like nothing else in the world matters. He takes every last drop of Harry’s cum as Harry bucks wildly against him. Afterward, he slides his mouth off of Harry’s softening member with a delicate ‘pop.’ Harry pants, lays his head back onto the couch, and releases the tight grip he’s had in Draco’s hair._

_“Oh my god.” He says finally, and Draco chuckles as he stands and stretches yet again. His hard cock tents against his trousers, tempting Harry’s own flaccid one, causing it to twitch pathetically with interest. Harry thinks maybe he will return the favor, but he’s never done this before, and he’s nervous and excited all at once. He tries not to think too long on it so that he doesn’t chicken out. He slides down the couch, still half naked, to kneel before Draco. Draco’s eye brows shoot up in question._

_“It’s okay-“ He starts to say, but Harry nuzzles his face against his clothed cock, opening his mouth around it experimentally. Draco takes a sharp breath and says “Oh fuck,” and that’s all the encouragement Harry needs…_

“Potter? You there?” Draco says, interrupting Harry’s thoughts like a bucket of cold water. Harry blushes, because he knows that Draco knows exactly what he was just thinking about, judging by the smirk on his face. But before he can reply, the host greets them. He recognizes them immediately, gushing to Draco about how it’s been so long and how they had missed him, his thick French accent making it a bit difficult to understand him. Draco remains the polite diplomat throughout it all, and Harry just tries to nod along and smile whenever it’s appropriate. The host leads them to their usual table, and Harry automatically cranes his neck to spot the little hallway that leads to their secret bathroom.

He turns his attention to the waiter, who has come over to take their drink order. He feels Draco’s eyes boring into him, but doesn’t look at the other man until the waiter has left the table to fetch their drinks. He pretends to look at the menu, but he can’t really make out any of the words. He is going to let Draco order for him anyways, and they both know that, because Draco knows how to read French and Harry simply doesn’t. Besides, Harry doesn’t really care what he eats at this point, he is just happy to be there. A lump forms in his throat as emotions he has been trying to suppress fight their way to the surface.

He takes a deep breath, pastes a smile on his face, and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes. What he sees there is difficult to make out. Draco looks at him curiously, a slight frown set in his lips, shoulders a bit tensed. This is the one thing Harry was hoping would not happen. Draco seems to neutralize his face then, clears his throat, eyes flickering around the room a bit. It looks as if he is trying to think of something to say. His hands are folded tightly on the table, elbows hanging off of it in the picture of perfect elegance. Harry would have laughed if the circumstances were different.

“So how have you been?” Draco seems to ask suddenly.

_Miserable without you._ “Oh uh, fine, for the most part.” Harry answers him.

“What have I missed? Anything exciting?” Draco asks again.

“Nothing really…not much has changed.” Harry answers him honestly. He follows Draco’s line of sight, to the silver wedding band on his left ring finger. It makes Harry feel self-conscious, guilty almost. He fiddles with the ring nervously and Draco looks away.

“You and the Weaslette probably have a little one by now? Or at least one on the way?” Draco says politely. It seems disingenuous, pained almost.

“No, we’re uh, still trying,” Harry answers, voice coming out much too scratchy, “but Hermione and Ron are about to have one, a little girl.”

“Oh, they must be thrilled.” Draco says again, and all of this just feels so stilted, and wrong, and it’s painful for Harry to bear.

“I’m just so happy you’re here,” he reaches across the table to place his hands over Draco’s, wanting to comfort him, to touch him, anything to make this weird tension in the air just disappear. But Draco pulls his hands back abruptly, just out of Harry’s reach, and it stings so much that Harry loses his breath.

Draco looks at Harry sympathetically before casting a quick Muffliato. “Listen, P-Harry,” Draco says, his voice just barely above a whisper, “I need you to know something. I never stopped thinking about you…I never stopped _loving you_ , the entire time I was kidnapped. That didn’t change - my feelings, I mean.” His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, running his fingers through his hair, his eyes churning with turmoil. Harry doesn’t like where this is going, although hearing him say those words out loud feels akin to a thousand pounds being taken off of his shoulders. Draco raises a hand as Harry tries to interrupt him, then continues, “But I had a lot of time to think, as well, about my life and the way I was living it. A-and, I decided, that things can’t be like they were before. I gained a lot of perspective, about right and wrong, and I know that, before, we talked about doing things a certain way. I know we discussed me getting married and fulfilling my familial duty of providing an heir, and continuing what we had in secret…”

“Draco I-” Harry gasps out, holding back a sob.

“Please, Harry, let me finish,” he is beseeching, and Harry clamps his hand over his mouth, trying to fight the tears that are threatening to spill.

“I just, can’t be a part of something like that anymore. I’ve been given a second chance at life and I owe it to myself to just be…. _enough_ for someone. I can’t be a part of this adulterous relationship with you. I want to be free, and open, and I don’t want to _share_. I don’t want to be a part of hurting anyone, either, not ever again. I’ve already spoken to my mother about this, not about us but about my sexuality and my desires to be out and open, and although she isn’t thrilled, she is willing to accept me for who I really am.” Draco’s eyes are almost pleading with Harry, but Harry isn’t sure what he is pleading for, exactly.

“Draco I-I never knew you felt that way.” Harry says honestly, because he really had no idea. “You seemed to want to keep things a secret just as much as I did…” Harry is absolutely dumbfounded. _You are enough for me,_ he wants to say, _you are EVERYTHING to me._ But the words are stuck in his throat.

“I didn’t really know it, myself, back then. Although there was always a part of me that _hurt_ , just knowing you were going back to your wife every night.” Draco looks away again, takes a sip of his drink. The waiter comes back over to take their orders, and everything just feels forced now, the way both men smile politely and nod obligingly at the waiter for what feels like hours until he finally leaves them alone again.

“Draco..” Harry says, without direction, voice cracking.

“I’m not asking you for anything, Harry, I just want you to know that we can’t continue our relationship this way. I think you should really take some time to think about whether or not you’re happy with your life as it stands. Make a decision that isn’t just because you feel like I’m forcing you to, but a decision that is for yourself more so than for us.”

_I’ll leave her right now,_ Harry wants to say, _I love you and there is no one else for me._ But it’s not that simple, is it? Harry risks losing everything the moment he decides to leave Ginny. He loses his best friends, the family of redheads that have adopted him into their hearts and home, and the wife that he still loves in his own way, even if that love stopped being romantic a long time ago. So Harry simply says nothing, and both men sit in tense silence for a little while.

“Just think things over,” Draco says finally, “and for now, we should keep things strictly business.” The bite to those words hurt Harry more than Draco could ever know.

***

Harry decides to head back to his office to check in and do some research to kill the time. When they had arrived back at the hospital, after another miserable 30 minutes of eating in tense silence, Draco had been discharged on the grounds of allowing a mind healer to see him at his flat for sessions twice weekly. They decided that if Draco thinks of anything he can call on Harry, but for now he is just going to focus on getting settled at home.

Harry nips into his office quickly, making sure to avoid everyone else like the plague. He just needs to _think._ The first thing he does is begins to make the report on the events of yesterday, according to the story that he and Ron came up with.  Ron works for improper use of magic, and was assigned to this case a year ago when it first happened. Their notes need to match, which thankfully, is easy enough given how much time and effort both men have poured into this. Harry feels grateful to his best friend once again. He couldn’t have done this without him.

Report out of the way, he makes a few official preliminary notes regarding follow up, leaving the part about someone working with Dresden out of it. He then looks into the situation with the missing children. What he finds is terrifying. In the Muggle world, Dresden is being called “the Lamia,” based off of an ancient Greek myth about a woman who transformed into a child-killing monster after her own children were killed by the Greek God called Zeus. 35 children were taken, all of them going missing anywhere from 3 days to a few weeks, and all of them randomly showing up again, tucked into their beds, or doing something mundane such as sitting on the toilet at their home, lifeless and drained of blood. Harry feels sick to his stomach. So Dresden was returning the bodies, which is interesting.

Harry already knows that any research into Dresden himself is a dud. Since he was disowned by his family long ago, his name was actually changed and his existence erased from his family tree. So Harry resolves that maybe he should switch tactics and start just taking his picture around and asking if anyone recognizes him. It would be a long shot, but Harry feels he should exhaust all options. Once Dresden’s name is made public, he would be able to ask about him freely.

A soft knock interrupts his train of thought. Harry looks up from his research, sees Ron standing in his doorway. He is clean cut and tall, hair brushed back out of his eyes as he chats with Harry mundanely about things. Harry finds it hard to pay attention. All he can think about is this case and the bomb that Draco dropped on him earlier at lunch.  He wishes for a friend that is outside of their tight inner circle so he could vent to this mystery person every time he has love troubles, judgment free. They compare notes with each other to make sure they are on the same train of thought and Ron is amazed at how deep it all seems to go. Harry chooses not to tell Ron about the documents or Draco’s theory about Dresden having a ministry official as a partner. It hurts Harry to keep things from his best friend, but he also trusts Draco implicitly, so there really was no choice in the matter, at least not for Harry.

“You know mate…Ginny’s so fucking pissed at you.” Ron tells him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. Harry can’t tell if he is coming from a best friend standpoint or that of a big brother.

“I know, I know, I just…god I fucked things up so bad.” Harry sighs, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. And he means it in more ways than one.

“You need to talk to her. I think she’s just waiting to hear you apologize, at this point.” Ron looks a bit sympathetic, but he is stern with his words, fingers digging slightly into Harry’s collarbone.

“Yeah mate, it’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it though?” Ron glances over at the clock hanging on the wall, an antique that Draco had hung there long ago. “It’s half past three, and Harry, you’ve been working non-stop since yesterday. Maybe it’s time to go home and talk to your wife, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry agrees, much too tired and frazzled to fight his best mate on this.

When he arrives at home, however, Ginny isn’t anywhere to be found. Harry makes a kettle of tea and waits a bit for her, deciding to tidy up while he’s at it. After an hour or so, he gets anxious and elects to go ahead and look for her. His first stop is the Burrow. It’s relatively empty, which almost looks strange to Harry. Arthur sits at the dining room table with a mug of coffee, trying to pick apart a Muggle toaster. He smiles at Harry as he steps through the floo.

“Hi Harry! How are you, my boy?”

“Hi Arthur, I’m fine thanks. How about you?” He replies politely. Arthur wipes some sweat from his brow.

“Never a dull moment,” he says lightly, “Was there something you needed? Molly won’t be home for a bit.”

“Well actually I was looking for Ginny,” Harry tells him, “I nipped out of work early but I can’t seem to remember where she said she would be.”

“Probably visiting Annie, I reckon.” Arthur says distantly, already back to his poking and prodding.

“Oh right, I’m sure that’s true.” Harry says awkwardly, trying to decide whether he should go to St. Mungo’s and find her, or head back home and wait. He begins to pace absentmindedly. He hasn’t been to the hospital to visit yet and he would hate to go and seek his wife out there while she is royally pissed at him. It just doesn’t feel right to intrude like that and force her away from her friend so that they can argue some more.

“Harry,” Arthur says curiously, “Why have you got a picture of Augustus Dresden sticking out of your robes pocket?”

Harry freezes in his tracks. Well fuck, maybe Arthur can help him, after all. And although Harry knows that he _technically_ doesn’t have the clearance to start divulging Dresden’s name to the general public, he thinks he can go ahead and bend the rules just this once. It’s just Arthur, and honestly Harry thought that Ron or Ginny would have told him Dresden’s name by now anyway. What would be the harm? They are about to announce Dresden’s name to the public any second now, probably, and in that case it won’t even matter.

“Well I am not really supposed to be telling anyone this…but since you saw the picture anyways, maybe you can help me. Dresden is the wizard who kidnapped Draco, the one who attacked me yesterday. I can’t seem to find any information on him, though.”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath. “Oh my,” he says, “I’ll help you in any way I can, Harry.”

“How do you know him?” Harry asks hopefully.

“I don’t know him directly,” Arthur says, “not really, but a long while back, I’m talking maybe when Annie was a few weeks old, he tried to make contact so he could see her. Let’s just say it didn’t go over well.”

“See… Annie?” Harry asks, confused.

“Oh yes,” Arthur replies, “Augustus is Annie’s great grandfather.” And Harry just stares at him, slack jawed.


	4. Another Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely people! Sorry for the lengthy time it took to update, there were some things that came up in my life but I should be back on track now. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to let me know what you think!

_My moon oh my moon_

_Not even into_

_Another eternity_

_Will you stop your lovely orbiting_

_-Purity Ring_

Chapter 4: Another Eternity

_Harry shakes the snow out of his tangled, messy locks of hair before shrugging off his coat and gloves. He looks across the office at Draco, who is sitting over his cluttered desk, writing furiously, an illuminating smile painted across his rosy lips. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold, bits of snow trapped in his eyelashes. His coat is hanging from his shoulders haphazardly. And Harry has had enough, he thinks, as he saunters over to him, touching his shoulder gently._

_“Hmmm?” Draco answers lightly, not looking up from his writing._

_“Malfoy,” Harry starts, but he suddenly feels lost for words. His hand lingers on the other man’s shoulder for a bit too long before he finally slides it off to hang limply at his side. The only sound in the room is the scratching of Draco’s pen on the paper in front of him. He brushes a stray lock of blonde hair from his face and looks up at Harry, silver eyes swirling like a wintry storm._

_“Out with it Potter.”_

_“We just solved yet another case.” Harry starts awkwardly._

_“How astute.” Draco says sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him in question._

_“We’re…we’re a good team.”_

_“Well we keep up with each other fine enough, and neither one of has died yet, so I’d say we do pretty well, yeah.” Draco smiles a little before frowning again. Harry has made no attempt to move, just stands stock still next to him, smiling oddly._

_“Was there something else, Potter?” Draco seems concerned now._

_“Yes,” Harry says, gaining confidence suddenly, “we should go for a celebratory drink.” Draco sucks in a breath, tilts his head to the side as he considers Harry’s words. He purses his lips before chewing the bottom one worriedly._

_“We don’t have that kind of partnership, Potter.” He answers finally, but he seems uncertain._

_“Come on,” Harry says, “We get along really well. We work so much overtime. We deserve to go celebrate. We’ve solved 5 cases in three months, successfully, with virtually no complications. We’re fucking badass.”_

_“Yes but…” Draco lets the words hang in the air as he mulls it over. His shoulders are tense with worry, his lips basically bleeding at this point from how much he’s been chewing on them. Up until this point, their partnership consisted of work and only work. And although they’ve spent tons of time together, conversations centered on their cases only. They occasionally spoke about other things, but it was so rare and so menial. There was barely time for much else in the beginning, but things were starting to slow down recently. And Harry isn’t sure what’s come over him lately, but he really feels like he wants to know what Draco is like outside of work._

_“It’s not a big deal, Malfoy,” Harry tries, “It’ll be strictly business.” He thinks maybe this will help him ease into the possible friendship that Harry has been craving._

_“Strictly business?” Draco asks, doubtful. For a second Harry wants to just forget it all because this is really hard work. But then the blonde is looking into his eyes again and Harry is back to feeling like it’s all worth it somehow._

_“Okay,” Draco agrees, “Strictly business.” But his smile betrays his words._

_***_

Harry is hunched over his desk as he goes through his case notes for the hundredth time. It’s been a week since he’s spoken with Arthur, and since that point he has been stuck, unable to really find the courage to confront his wife. Arthur had insisted that there was no way Ginny or Annie could have known about Dresden’s relation to Annie. And Harry really wants to believe this is true, but he knows that as a good Auror, he needs to follow up on it to be sure. Ginny is going to be livid when he finally does confront her. He feels for the tiny vials that he has in his robes pocket and relaxes slightly as his fingers make contact with the cool glass.

Unfortunately, he has reached a bunch of dead ends in this case so far. No one else knows anything about Dresden, or they remain tight lipped, and although Arthur at one point did know of him, he never actually knew him personally outside of those times when he tried to reach out to see Annie as a baby. It’s frustrating and confusing, and Harry is tired of lying to Ron every time he comes round asking for updates. And although Arthur promised not to tell Ginny about her connection to Dresden, Harry is not sure that he can realistically keep that promise much longer. He knows he needs to bite the bullet but the entire thing is just so unpleasant. They’ve spoken maybe ten words total to each other this past week, and Harry has been resigned to the couch becoming his new permanent bed.

His eyes glance to the clock on the wall. It’s only half past noon. Harry sighs in frustration, vision blurring for a moment. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly. Ron isn’t having much luck either on his end as far as researching the blood ritual. Blood magic is rarer than all other types, and there isn’t much literature available. The type of clearance they would need to access the books that _might_ have some of that information is way above their pay grade. Harry hasn’t spoken much with Draco since their awkward lunch together. He wonders if perhaps something in the Malfoy library could be of any help. He figures he at least owes the other man an update, even if it’s to say he hasn’t found a whole lot. He struggles with the reality behind these thoughts: he just misses the other man terribly. And so, if Draco wants to keep things strictly business, Harry will have to do just that. The other man made it clear that the ball is essentially in Harry’s court, as much as Harry doesn’t want to face that fact. He just can’t seem to stop thinking about him. Decision made, Harry heads over to Draco’s flat.

***

He finds himself standing at his door step a few minutes later, but hesitates just before his fist makes contact with the door. Should he really be bothering Draco right now? With no news? What will the blonde think of him just showing up like this, without word beforehand? Just as Harry decides he should tuck tail and leave, the front door opens, and there stands a slightly unkempt Draco Malfoy. And Harry can’t help himself, his breath hitches, and his heart hurts with the pain of not having been able to see him this past week. He takes in the sight of him, hair hanging in wet tangles, and a bathrobe wrapped tightly around him, smooth skin on his chest peeking through. The fresh smell of sandalwood that brings back so many memories. Harry reels from the emotion of it all. There will never be a time where he wouldn’t find him to be absolutely beautiful. There will never be a time where he could stop loving him.

“Harry?” Draco asks, shuffling slightly under Harry’s heated gaze, “is everything alright?”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t really planned this far out. He swallows the lump in his throat and has the decency to nod his head before clearing his throat. “Yeah,” he says finally, “Everything is fine, I just thought I’d check in and update you.”

“Oh.” Draco blinks at him, “Come on in.” He steps aside to allow Harry entry and then shuts the door quietly behind them. The flat is neat and tidy, and while it’s always been modest in size, the décor is modern and bright. Harry remembers how surprised he was the first time he came over. The memories continue to flood as he steps carefully into the living room and takes a seat on the plush couch. Draco follows behind and tilts his head toward his bedroom, where the door is open and light pours from the inside.

“Just give me a moment so I can get dressed.” Harry swallows again and nods at him. He can’t help but peak into the room. It’s also neat and tidy, but Harry’s heart sinks as he notices that Draco’s bed is not dressed. His sheets and blanket are laid out on the floor in a corner of his room, complete with pillows, as if the man has been sleeping on the ground instead of in his bed. When his eyes turn back to peer into stormy gray ones, Draco’s face is flushed with embarrassment. “It just….feels more normal this way. I can’t sleep otherwise.” He offers, before turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him. Harry can’t help but feel as though he has invaded a deeper part of Draco, a part that no one else was ever meant to see. He is almost shaking with rage, partly from the indignity of how Draco was treated, and partly from the life that was stolen away from him as well.

A few moments later, Draco emerges from his bedroom, head held high as he practically stomps over to sit opposite of Harry in an equally plush love seat. Harry has a momentary, unbidden flashback – of himself in Draco’s lap on the loveseat, as he rides him mercilessly. He reels from it, blinking as he shakes the thought away. He really shouldn’t be here. This is dangerous territory. Even worse, he recognizes the look in Draco’s eyes as he stares him down darkly. The other man is daring him to say one thing more about the bedding on the floor. He’s a wounded animal, caught but still standing his ground. His bravado doesn’t match his whimsical pajamas, light blue top and bottoms with golden snitches whizzing around to and fro. Blue really is Draco’s color. Harry tries to smile, and it works. Draco is disarmed momentarily, and he melts like a lump into his seat, seemingly relieved. “What’s the news?” He asks interestedly.

“Well…erm…” Harry says gracefully.

“Just spit it out, Potter.” Draco tells him, rubbing at his temples. He looks tired and worn down again suddenly.

“The news is that there is no news.” Harry supplies, scrubbing at his hair nervously. And if looks could kill… “I mean, I’ve exhausted almost all possible avenues. I can’t find squat on Dresden. It’s like the man never existed. Ron is coming up short on the blood ritual…and I was wondering, maybe we could take a look at the Manor’s library-“

“Don’t bother.” Draco cuts him off.

“Uh-what?” Harry asks, slightly caught off guard. Draco just looks bored now.

“I’ve already scoured every piece of literature I could get my hands on. I can’t find anything either.”

“Oh.” Awkward silence follows.

“Was there anything else then? Or did you just stop by my place to tell me you’ve literally got nothing?” The words are harsh, but there isn’t any gusto behind them. It’s as if Draco couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort. Harry just looks and looks at him, fiddling nervously. “You’re hiding something.” Draco says matter-of-factly.

“What!? No I-“

“Come on Harry, I know you too well for this shit. You’re going to tell me eventually. Why not now? Now seems like as good a time as any.” But damnit, Harry forgot just how convincing the fair haired man could be. Still though, the prospect of telling him about Ginny is just so unpleasant. He takes in a deep breath and shoots a pleading look at the other man.

“Fine then.” Draco says, “If you’re done…I’m starving and I’d like to eat now.” But he makes no move to get up from his seat. And he really doesn’t look like he’s been eating much these days anyways.

“Ugh…okay…DresdenisrelatedtoAnnie.” It all comes out in one breath. Draco just stares and stares.

“Fucks sake! English, please.” He says, eyes wide at the indignity of it all.

“Dresden, is related to Annie.” Harry says, forcing the words out of his mouth, feeling each one as it pushes past his lips in slow motion. Draco knows exactly who Annie is, so Harry just continues when he is met with no response. “Arthur told me. He’s her great grandfather, and the only reason Arthur knows is because Dresden tried to make contact when she was born. But he swears that she doesn’t know about it.”

“And you think that, what – Ginny had something to do with it all?” Draco looks almost appalled on her behalf.  Which Harry finds surprising because he’s thought all this time that Draco hated her.

“Well I don’t exactly have any other leads, do I?” He says defensively, shivering against Draco’s withering look. “You know Annie’s been sick, with a-“

“Rare blood disorder.” Draco finishes darkly.

“Exactly. It stands to reason that if they’re related, it’s the same disorder, and Dresden might have had a lot more at stake than just curing himself.”

“Have you been to the hospital?” Draco asks him, standing up swiftly and coming to sit next to him, a glint of determination in his eyes. Harry is momentarily distracted by the fresh scent of sandalwood assaulting his nostrils and the warmth emanating off of Draco in waves. He wants to press closer so that they’re touching, but holds back. As much as Draco seems to know Harry, Harry knows Draco just as well, and he knows that Draco has tunnel vision right now revolving around the case.

“Not yet,” Harry says, “things have been….awkward at home and-” And Harry doesn’t know why he’s telling Draco all of this.

“You should follow up there before anything else.” Draco says authoritatively. He nods his head enthusiastically, lost in the throes of Auror-hood. “Find out if any of the staff there has seen Dresden or heard from him in any way. I’d think if he was that invested he’d be keeping tabs somehow.” As annoyed as Harry is that Draco is trying to take over the case, he’s loathed to admit that this is brilliant. He’s been so obsessed with the prospect that he would have to question his wife that he didn’t realize he needed to follow up at St. Mungo’s first and foremost. He really misses being Draco’s partner again suddenly, and he actually aches from it. The pain hits like acid in the back of his throat but he swallows it down and turns to face Draco, his face only inches from his.

“I knew I came here for a reason, you fucking genius.” He smiles widely, and Draco returns it tenfold, silver orbs sparkling with purpose. Harry realizes, with a sort of crazed dread, that now there is no reason for him to continue to stick around. But he isn’t ready to leave Draco’s presence. So he scrambles around in his muddled brain to come up with any excuse to stay just a bit longer. “Why don’t we get some takeout and strategize?” He asks dizzily. Draco’s eyes narrow at him, and Harry can see the gears turning. Draco knows that Harry is up to something and that is a terrifying thought. He holds his breath and waits for an answer.

“You’re stalling.” Draco points out determinedly. Well yeah, that’s true, Harry thinks, and he can go with that. As long as Draco doesn’t realize the reason behind the stalling, it should be fine. “Harry, I know it’s difficult with the er…conflict of interest and all. I’d understand if you want to leave out this lead in your notes.” Draco is pulling away from him, turning away and walking back to the loveseat, all stiff muscles and tightened jawbones. Harry doesn’t like the look of it, and he feels unexpectedly bereft and cold at Draco’s absence.

“You’re reading too much into this Draco, I’m just hungry.” He tries to reassure but Draco doesn’t seem anymore convinced at his words. “This is not a conflict of interest. I’ll exhaust every lead I need to,” his voice is lowering but he knows it’s the truth even as the words come out on their own accord, “whatever the cost. Because you and I both deserve to know the truth about why Dresden did what he did, and who he was working with.” Draco seems to mull this information over in his head before nodding hesitantly.

“What shall we eat, then?” He asks, and Harry beams at him.

About an hour later, both men are hunched over on opposite ends of the couch, grasping their bellies, caught in the throes of hysterical laughter. The takeout containers lay forgotten on the coffee table. Harry realizes, as the laughter dies down and a comfortable silence begins to settle around them, that now there really is no reason left for him to stay. He is struck by the ease of this afternoon, how seamlessly the men worked together to find solutions, how much fun they’ve had together, and even the simplicity of being able to be on the same page about what to eat. These are things that have never been quite so easy between him and Ginny. He feels Draco’s gaze, heavy and persistent, on the side of his face as he begins to clear his throat.

“Go on, then.” Draco tells him resolutely, “let me know what you discover.” It’s such a complete distinction from the happy Draco that he saw moments ago, that Harry wonders if perhaps Draco has some sort of mood disorder. He considers asking how the mind healer appointments have been going, but thinks better of it. Instead, he nods before stretching languidly and forcing himself to rise from the comfortable couch.

“See you later.” He says carefully. Draco shrugs before looking away. It’s so frustrating to Harry that he doesn’t understand what he could possibly be doing wrong. He sighs quietly, choosing to say nothing further for fear of fucking things up even more, and turns toward the door. He doesn’t hear another sound as he steps out and shuts it behind himself.

***

The Head Healer on the 4th floor of St. Mungo’s is cheery and friendly when Harry approaches her. She seems to recognize him right away, and inquires about Ginny immediately. Harry returns her smile and tells her Ginny is doing well, even though he doesn’t know that for sure, and remembers what a shitty husband he is. She introduces herself as Mary, and asks how she can help him today. Mary has long, strikingly dark curly hair that is pulled back into a messy, low ponytail. Her nails are bright pink and cut short, and she smells of strawberries. Her eyes are light brown, with slight wrinkles at the ends of them made apparent when she smiles. She is thin and short, wearing dark, tall heels that clink harshly on the ground as she walks. Even with the heels her lack of height is quite noticeable. She appears to be in her early 40’s.

“I’m actually here on official Auror business.” He tells her apologetically. “I can’t divulge too much information, but I was hoping I could ask you a few things about Annie.” Mary looks surprised but nods her head and begins to lead him toward her office, heels clinking even louder as she walks with purpose.  Once seated inside of her rather spacious office, Harry pulls out his photograph of Dresden.

“What would you like to know?” Mary asks him, eyes wide with sincerity.

“Do you recognize this man?” Harry asks, showing her the picture.

“No,” she tells him, looking a bit confused.

“I need to know if he has ever come to visit Annie.” Harry continues, and Mary nods her head. She places her hand over her wand.

“May I?” She asks, and at his consent pulls the wand out. She casts a quick spell and they both watch as magic sparks out, forming pictures of thousands of faces that flash quickly before both their eyes. Harry waits patiently as the spell searches through the visitor database before coming up with no match to Dresden’s picture. “He hasn’t.” Mary states needlessly. Harry cards his hand through his hair and encounters a knot, which he tries to comb through subtly, but Mary’s eyes bore holes into his head as she watches him.

“Is there anything you can share with me about Annie’s case that seems strange or suspicious? Whether it be about her medical condition or otherwise.” Harry asks her, grasping at straws.

“Well…” The gears are turning in Mary’s head as she thinks. “I’m not sure if this would even be relevant but, Annie’s treatments were being paid for by an anonymous donor.”

“That’s good,” Harry starts, “was the donor making deposits into a Gringott’s account?”

“No, payments were being sent to our billing department directly but…” Mary says quietly, “a few days ago the payments just suddenly stopped, and we have no way of contacting the donor. And Annie’s parents are both deceased. She has no way of continuing the payments for her treatments, considering how expensive they are. And with how advanced her condition has become…” The words hang in the air between them.

Harry is able to trace the magical signature of the payment transactions to the cottage where Dresden had been hiding out. His stomach feels heavy, as though he had eaten rocks for lunch instead of delicious curry. He doesn’t feel like he is any closer to solving anything at all, just incurring more unanswered questions. He gives Mary a very large sum of money to continue Annie’s payments. It’s the least he can do since he feels somehow responsible, even if logically he knows that he isn’t. Mary thanks him profusely, and Harry stresses the importance of keeping the status of his donation strictly anonymous. He is assured that Annie will never find out and, even though Mary gives him a funny look when he requests this, neither will Ginny. He feels honestly tired and desolate as he makes his way back home. With this new piece to the puzzle, Harry knows what he has to do next. He really has no other choice.

***

When Ginny arrives at home, Harry has dinner ready for her. It’s her favorite, although Harry knows this will do nothing to soften the blow, in fact it might make her even angrier. Still, he needed something to do since he was going mad just waiting around for her. She eyes him suspiciously, rightfully so, before plopping down heavily onto the seat across from him. Harry tries to smile at her but his face contorts into more of a grimace than anything else. He instead busies himself with pouring her a cup of tea, two sugars and a splash of milk, just the way she likes it. She takes it gratefully and immediately takes a sip before blanching.

“Ugh, Harry, you know I don’t take sugar in my tea.” She says cryptically. Oh, that’s right, Harry thinks, it’s _someone else_ who takes their tea that way. And he is filled with shame as he vanishes the cup to the sink. He fills another cup with the hot liquid and adds a splash of milk.

“Sorry,” he says, handing her the new cup, which she drinks from cautiously. Satisfied, she takes a bigger gulp and then tucks in to her meal. Harry doesn’t make a move to eat, just fidgets in his seat as he watches her, trying to find the right words to say.

“Mmm, it’s good.” She says around a mouthful.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry answers, and then returns to his silent fidgeting for a few more minutes.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asks suspiciously, before eyeing the food as though he has poisoned it. “What’s going on?” She narrows her eyes at him, dropping her fork with a clink on her plate.

“Nothing I…just wanted to…” The words die out in his mouth. He is an awful liar, and besides, he can’t hear his own thoughts around his heart’s pounding in his ears. Ginny’s face is beginning to redden with anger as she stares him down unblinkingly.

“Harry, we haven’t spoken in days and now suddenly you’ve cooked my favorite meal? I can’t remember the last time you cooked for me, so I’ll ask again, what’s going on?” She looks at him expectantly, her manicured fingers tapping on the table, a clear sign that she’s peeved.

“Ginny…” Harry says eloquently. Her lips straighten into a thin line. Harry thinks it’s going swimmingly so far. He gives himself a miniature pep talk, things like you can do this, and, you’re a grown man, she’s a small woman, but it’s not helping much. He takes a deep breath, then a sip of his own tea, and yet another deep breath. When he looks into Ginny’s eyes, the anger has been replaced by something much worse: sadness.

“Harry, please, talk to me.” She begs. Her hand reaches across the table toward his own, but she hesitates and then pulls it back, folding her hands tightly atop the table instead. Harry owes her the truth. He owes Draco the truth. He owes himself the truth. This will be a hard conversation to have but it will be good for all of them in the end, won’t it?

“Okay, okay, Ginny, I’ve come into some new information about Dresden. He’s…Annie’s great grandfather. He was paying for her treatments anonymously before I…you know.” Ginny looks surprised for a moment, then shakes her head slightly.

“He’s…but wait…” Realization dawns on her eyes, “I had no idea about any of this, you know that, right?” She says, anger returning to her features. She looks affronted.

“I…have to be sure…” Harry starts. He feels around for the vials and pulls them out to place them on the table between them. Ginny’s eyes narrow viciously at them before turning her dark stare on him.

“I just told you I had no idea, Harry. Veritaserum? Is my word not enough? Harry, am I a person of interest in your investigation?” Her words grow louder and more emotional as she speaks, her words coming out a mile per minute.

“I’ve got two vials, Ginny, one for me and one for you.” Harry’s voice is calm and level as he speaks to her, “I’m sure there are things you’d like to ask me too.” He pushes one of the vials across the table toward her. Ginny, who had stood abruptly just moments before, sits back down and stares hard at the vial. She reaches forward, bypasses the one Harry has pushed toward her, and grabs the one that is closer to Harry.

“Bottom’s up,” she tells him, gulping the contents down quickly, “let’s do this.” She slams the vial down, smashing it onto the table angrily. Harry grabs the other vial and tips it back before casting a quick cleaning spell over the table. “Go ahead then, Harry, ask me.” She dares him, eyes like daggers as she stares him down. Harry has a sinking feeling that he’s made a mistake, somehow, but it’s too late for him to go back on it now.

“Ginny,” he says it almost pleadingly now, “Protocol would have been to take you in and question you under Veritaserum, but I’m doing it here, at home, and I’m going to leave this out of my notes once I confirm-“

“Bullshit, Harry! A good husband believes his wife when she tells him she has nothing to do with something. A good husband turns the case over to someone else when it becomes a conflict of interest!” Tears of rage are falling from her eyes steadily.

“Ginny, if I had done that, someone else would be interrogating you in a cold office at the Auror station. Don’t treat me like this, you know I have to follow any leads on this case!” Harry is angry now, and he uses that anger to help bolster his courage. Ginny deflates at his words, placing her head in her hands.

“The case that is more important to you than your own marriage?” She asks him, and Harry feels compelled to answer, before he even has the chance to contemplate what has just been asked-

“Yes.” He states clinically, although his insides are screaming at him to _shut the fuck up_. “Fuck! Ginny I-“

“Just fucking ask me already, Harry.” She whispers it so low that Harry has to strain to hear.

“Did you know Augustus Dresden?”

“No.” Ginny’s shoulders begin to shake.

“Did you know he was related to Annie?” Harry follows up.

“No.” She deadpans.

“Did you know Dresden was sending payments for Annie’s treatments?”

“No.” This time it’s almost a sob. Harry feels like the biggest asshole on the entire planet. How could he ever have thought she would betray him like this? How could he ever have thought she had anything to do with any of this?

“I’m so sorry, Ginny,” he tells her sincerely, “please, look at me-“

“It’s my turn, now.” She tells him, a furious glint in her eyes as she turns to look up at him. Her eyes are red and her tears are stained with mascara. Her fiery hair is pulled back into a tight, high pony tail, although some strands have begun to escape in no particular pattern, making her look almost comical. Harry dares not laugh, even though he wants to, neither out of nervousness nor at her appearance.

“Do you love me?” She asks quietly, and Harry is relieved at the question before answering without any hesitation.

“Yes.” He nods enthusiastically for good measure.

“Romantically?” She follows up, to which Harry has no choice but to say-

“No.” He bites down on his tongue so hard that he tastes his own blood.

“Why?” She asks, words laced with agony. Despite his best efforts, the words slip passed Harry’s lips against his will.

“Because I’m gay.” Harry has never said those words out loud before. It is at once liberating and terrifying. He waits, with bated breath, while Ginny digests that information. She looks tired and defeated as she stares off into the distance.

“That explains a lot. How long have you known?”

“About two years.” Harry answers shamefully, feeling tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Ginny seems to contemplate that information for a bit, realization dawning on her freckled features.

“You’re in love with Draco, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Harry answers, allowing the tears to finally fall.

“And is he in love with you too?”

“Yes.” He shuts his eyes against the onslaught of emotions.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Harry?” Ginny is crying so hard that she has to blow her nose on the napkin that Harry had laid out for her earlier.

“I was so scared to lose you! I still love you, Gin, you’re my best friend. I was too scared to admit that I was gay, and even worse, in love with a man that you and your family have a history with. I’ve never even said those words out loud to anyone before. I just didn’t want to lose my family. You guys are all I have.” He sobs openly, and for a minute the room is filled with only the sounds of their sniffling as they both blow their noses.

“Talk to me, please Ginny, what are you thinking?” Harry asks finally.

“I’m thinking…how much I’ve wasted time and energy on us these last two years. I’m not even mad that you’re gay. I’m mad about how long you’ve been lying to me, going behind my back, too much of a spineless coward to do me the common courtesy of telling the fucking truth! You could have put us out of this misery so long ago.”

“Ginny!” Harry says, taken aback.

“Harry!” she returns, “Get the _fuck out.”_


	5. When we Burst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos so far. Only one more chapter to go after this one!

_You be the moon_

_I’ll be the Earth_

_And when we burst_

_Start over oh darling_

_-Purity Ring_

 

Chapter 5: When we Burst

Harry finds himself standing in the darkness outside of Draco’s flat, a few magically shrunken suitcases floating behind him. He doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. He is sure that Ginny is telling Ron and Hermione and all the other Weasleys about how Harry is a disgusting, cowardly, _gay_ liar. Harry can’t bear the thought of losing his entire family. But somehow, even with how horrible the conversation went with his wife, and running into yet another dead end with the case, Harry feels lighter, somehow. He no longer has to be the keeper of his dark, shameful secret. The truth has set them free. They were living in a miserable marriage, and Harry owed this to Ginny, even if he could have done it a better way.

“Potter?” Draco has opened his door, squinting into the darkness before a spark appears at the tip of his wand. “What are you doing out here at this-“ He cuts himself off, taking notice of the suitcases floating along behind Harry. Harry looks up at him pitifully, shrugging slightly before letting his shoulders droop into the epitome of a pathetic blob. Draco nods sharply and steps aside to allow him entry. He is still wearing his quirky pajamas from earlier in the day, and Harry wonders if Draco has left his apartment at all today.

“I take it, today didn’t go so well….” Draco says cautiously. Harry only nods, relishing in the smell of sandalwood that assaults his nostrils as he enters the flat. The takeaway containers from earlier are nowhere to be seen, and the flat is back to its pristine condition. Such a contrast to Draco’s desk at work. “Shit, Harry, I’m sorry…” Draco says genuinely. He runs his fingers through his white-blonde hair, and takes a step closer to Harry. The smell of him, the body heat that emanates from him, the sleepiness in his eyes, it’s almost too much for Harry to bear, and he closes the distance between them, stepping slowly so as not to scare the other man away.

“I told her the truth.” He whispers, his face inches away from Draco’s. He can almost taste the mint of his breath. His heart is pounding as he stares into deep pools of liquid mercury.

Draco clears his throat. “The truth?” He asks, his voice husky. He doesn’t look away from Harry as he speaks, doesn’t move at all.

“The hospital was another dead end, although I did find out Dresden was funding Annie’s payments anonymously. He never came by to visit though. But with that bit of information the only thing left to do was to confront Ginny. So I had Veritaserum…for both of us.” Draco takes in a breath of surprise at hearing those words, but Harry plunges on, dizzy from their proximity to each other. “So naturally, she had some questions and I…told her the truth…” Harry stops for a moment, heart beating so quickly he feels like he might swoon. He reaches over and gently touches at the fabric of Draco’s pajama top, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to light each of his nerve endings on fire.

“Harry,” Draco says gently, “that was a dangerous thing to do.” Harry can feel the other man’s pulse quickening underneath his mild touch.

“I’m in love with you, Draco,” Harry confesses helplessly, “I love only you, and everyone else just pales in comparison. The moment you strode into our office confidently those years ago, I was never going to stand a chance. I fell head over heels-“

“Harry,” Draco interjects. A smile blooms across his face, and it is absolutely breathtaking. He runs his hands up along Harry’s robes collar softly, up until he is cupping Harry’s face in his hands, and says, “do shut up.” In an instant, rough, chapped lips are pressing fervently against his. Harry’s heart floods with the painful, needy _love_ of it all as he surrenders himself to the kiss with a strangled moan. He has missed Draco so much he can barely stand it. He chokes back tears as he deepens their kiss, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and pulling him flush against him. Electricity seems to spark between them, sending tingling sensations throughout Harry’s body. Draco shivers against him, seemingly feeling it too. He wraps his hands behind Harry’s head and tangles his fingers in the messy locks of hair there.

Harry knows that neither of them is in the right state of mind for this kind of thing. He knows this is not the way things should progress from here – they should take it slow, talk things out more, and more importantly, they both have their own respective things they need to work through and heal from. But then again, they have never been ones to do things the way they were supposed to. Things have always been anything but ordinary in Harry’s life when it comes to Draco Malfoy. They have always approached the nature of their relationship with fierce determination – whether it was their mutual hatred, their partnership as Aurors, or their passion as lovers.

So Harry does not hesitate as he slides his hands underneath Draco’s shirt to touch the warm, smooth skin of his back. The muscles there tighten underneath his fingertips, a soft moan escaping from Draco’s lips at the contact. Harry can feel that Draco is still too thin, and a surge of fierce protectiveness comes over him. It has been too long, and Draco came too close to dying…Harry can’t bear to think of it. He’d thought he’d lost the blonde forever, and he vows in this moment to never let him slip away again. Draco’s fingers are hot, and the pressure they exhibit becomes more insistent as their kiss only deepens, becoming less gentle and more desperate with each passing minute. He slides his hands down Harry’s neck and into the collar of his robe, pushing the offending garment off of Harry’s shoulders. Harry moves his hands away from Draco to allow the sleeves to fall from his arms, and then grabs at Draco’s pajama top roughly to pull him back in for another smoldering kiss.

Harry works his mouth down Draco’s neck to the sensitive spot of his collar bone, sucking gently, enjoying the beautiful sounds Draco makes as he pants harshly into the air. The warm puffs slide just past Harry’s ear as a tongue darts out, making contact with the shell and eliciting a heady groan from Harry as his breath is momentarily taken away. The men are working with muscle memory, each of them having mapped out the other’s sensitive areas long ago. And it’s really not fair, Harry thinks, that they had to be separated from each other for so long, that it took something absolutely horrible happening for them to realize that they wanted only each other from the very beginning.

Draco’s shirt is becoming something of a nuisance, Harry realizes, as he fumbles for the third time on a particular button that just refuses to come undone. In fact, all of Draco’s clothes are nothing but a barrier, and without thinking, Harry grabs his wand and banishes the clothes right from Draco’s body. Draco lurches a bit against the cold air suddenly, looking scandalized. Harry drinks in the sight of him, long limbs, slim muscles, with the thinnest, white-blonde hair leading down from his abdomen to a heavy, erect cock, long like the rest of his limbs, pink and full, with a drop of pre-cum at the tip that smears against his stomach. Harry’s mouth waters the sight, and he has half a mind to drop to his knees right then and there, but Draco’s voice interrupts his suggestive thoughts.

“Potter, you know how much I loved those pajamas!” He sounds as though he is only half-way joking.

“Yes, I do,” Harry says fondly, forcing himself to look away from his delectable cock and make contact with darkened silver eyes, “That’s why they are folded neatly on your bed.” And Draco laughs slightly, before a devious look crosses his features.

“Let’s even the score then, shall we?” And Draco makes fast work of Harry’s t-shirt and jeans, stripping him efficiently, making a show of doing it without the aid of a wand. Harry would laugh if he wasn’t so bloody turned on, plus his brain is just basically mush at this point. “You are so fucking gorgeous.” Draco breathes, and their mouths connect again, hands roaming each other’s bodies freely, wrapping around each other and pulling each other close.

 Their erections slide against each other hotly, the pleasure shooting down Harry’s spine in sharp currents. He places his hands firmly on Draco’s chest and then exerts just enough pressure so that Draco begins to move backward. Getting the hint, Draco continues to move, pulling Harry along with him until the backs of his legs bump up against the couch. Harry pushes him down onto it before straddling his lap wantonly and pressing his mouth against Draco’s neck. He licks his way down the blonde’s collarbone and then makes contact with his right nipple, relishing in the sharp intake of breath, and the way Draco tightens his hands around Harry’s hips. All the while, they are rocking against each other, creating a friction that is at once too much and yet not enough. Draco slides his hands downward over Harry’s buttocks and grabs him firmly, aiding him in rocking against him while his mouth nibbles at his exposed shoulder.

“I need more,” Harry gasps, pushing Draco down onto his back and sliding down his body, kissing the trail of hair there before taking Draco into his mouth in one fluid motion. Draco cries out in surprise, hands tangling shakily into Harry’s hair as Harry sucks him down as far as his throat allows. His own cock is thick with arousal, and Harry quells the urge to touch himself, choosing instead to thrust against Draco’s leg fervently. Draco is making the most erotic sounds as he bucks wildly into Harry’s mouth, and it’s almost too much for Harry to take. He feels Draco’s hands pushing at his shoulders until Harry relents and slides his mouth off of Draco with a delicate ‘pop.’

“Come here,” Draco says huskily, and pulls Harry up to him for another passionate kiss. His hand slides down Harry’s chest before wrapping around his cock and pumping him firmly. Harry groans at the contact, tongue sliding against Draco’s deliciously. He missed the taste of the other man, he missed the feel of his body against him, he missed everything about him so much, and he wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

“I want you inside of me, Harry.” Draco whispers into his ear. Harry pulls back to look into his eyes. All he sees is certainty and trust and so much _love._ In the past, Harry was always content to be the one to receive, although there were a few times that Draco did the receiving as well. So his heart beats with nervousness now as he tries to remember how to do it right. He can’t stand the thought of hurting Draco, not after everything he has already been through. But he would never deny the other man his desires. He nods at him, places a small kiss at the corner of his smiling lips, and summons a small bottle of lubricant.

Draco turns around underneath him and gets onto his hands and knees. Harry is awestruck by the sight, and he clumsily tips the bottle onto his fingers. He works gently to stretch the other man’s opening, relishing at the way he thrusts against his fingers and encourages Harry to go harder and faster. His cock twitches against his stomach with arousal, and it’s all he can do to stay focused, to make sure he doesn’t jump the gun and end up hurting Draco with his enthusiasm. His free hand alternately rubs circles into Draco’s back and squeezes his hip eagerly. When Draco cranes his neck to stare daggers at Harry, telling him to _get on with it,_ Harry finally decides that perhaps he is ready.

He lines his aching cock up to Draco’s entrance and begins to push in gently. The delicious heat and pressure are too much, and almost cause him to cum prematurely. He has to stop for a second before continuing, and it doesn’t help that Draco moans and thrusts back against him with ardor. “Yes, Harry, just like that.” He encourages, and Harry helplessly obliges, thrusting into him with full gusto, finding a rhythm that is at once familiar and absolutely unprecedented. He covers his fingers in more lubricant and wraps his hand around Draco’s erect cock, pumping him in harmony with his thrusts, eliciting a string of beautiful gibberish past Draco’s lips. His other hand grabs onto Draco’s hip for purchase, and they thrust against each other feverishly, becoming faster and less coordinated as they each hurtle toward climax.

It is Harry who orgasms first, unable to hold out any longer. He bites his lip and rests his head against Draco’s shoulder as he empties himself into him, the pleasure coiling around his insides and causing him to see stars. His hand continues to pump Draco passionately, and Draco cries out with the intensity of his own orgasm, spurts of hot liquid shooting out onto his stomach and chest. Harry pumps him until he is spent, and they both collapse onto the couch in a messy heap of exhaustion. Draco squirms around underneath him until they are laying chest to chest. He wraps his arms around Harry lazily tracing his scar with his fingers and stroking down his face before working his hands back through his hair in a comforting fashion. Harry grips onto him tightly and sighs into his neck, feeling suddenly very tired. Sleep overtakes him almost instantly.

***

_“That was brilliant.” Harry smiles at the ceiling in Draco’s room, panting heavily before rolling on his side to face the other man. Draco smiles in return, before leaning in to place a soft, warm kiss against his lips. He pulls back almost shyly, and some untraceable emotion flitters across his face for just a moment before he replaces it firmly with his trademark Malfoy mask._

_“I know,” he says playfully, “I haven’t found anything I’m not good at.”_

_“Hmmm…what about modesty?” Harry jokes, earning himself a pillow to the head. He laughs heartily and then grabs at Draco, pulling him until they are flush against each other. He runs his hands up and down the blonde’s back in lazy circles. Draco’s hand rests on Harry’s hip, flexing every once in a while into a tight grip, the other hand resting under Harry’s cheek as they look at each other._

_“What are you saying, Potter?” Draco returns, “I can be modest!”_

_“I find that hard to believe. Everything about you is so painfully elegant and posh. I bet you don’t own one modest outfit.” He teases, and just as he is about to expand and tell Draco that is one of the things he likes most about him, the blonde shoots up out of his arms indignantly._

_“Not true, Harry. Wanna bet?”_

_Harry hesitates for a moment, but curiosity gets the better of him and he nods emphatically. Draco reaches beside himself to his nightstand and procures his wand. He summons a pair of blue pajamas and grabs ahold of them fondly. They appear a bit worn but still retain their bright whimsy. They are a vibrant cerulean blue, with patterns of shimmery gold left behind by zooming golden snitches. Harry is not sure that they would necessarily be called modest pajamas, but they are absolutely the farthest thing from posh. He is honestly surprised and delighted at the same time to behold that such a thing would belong to an adult man, let alone a Malfoy._

_“I stand corrected,” he says in awe, “those are definitely_ not _posh nor elegant.” Draco pulls a face, as if to show he is not sure he should take that as a compliment._

_“They’re my favorite,” Draco says, stroking the fabric absently. He stares off as if caught in deep thought._

_“Are you sure a friend didn’t leave them at your house accidentally?” Harry asks, bewildered. Draco arches an aristocratic eyebrow at him._

_“How likely do you think it is that one of my friends would own these?” He questions._

_“Just as likely as_ YOU _being the owner.” Harry counters cheekily, tucking one of Draco’s stray hairs behind his ear gently._

_“Nope Potter, I assure you these are 100% mine. I bought these because they reminded me of someone…someone really special to me.” Draco says, eyes lifting back over to Harry’s in a moment of pure vulnerability. Harry is stunned for a moment, too afraid to ask the question he already knows the answer to. He is struck with the sudden realization the he might just be falling in love with Draco Malfoy. He can see the mask slowly begin to fall back into place, so he scrambles for something to ease the tension._

_“Alright then, you win, so let’s talk terms of this bet….what do I owe you?”_

***

When Harry wakes up again, he is alone on the couch. He feels clean and dry, and he is covered by a thick, warm blanket. He is wearing a pair of boxers that he recognizes as Draco’s. His glasses are lying on the coffee table next to him, along with a glass of water. He gulps the water down gratefully and looks around, trying hard not to feel completely bereft at Draco’s absence. Deciding that this is not the time for subtlety, Harry gets to his feet and pads softly around the flat, looking for the man in question.

He is not in the kitchen, the drawing room, nor the guest bathroom. So that only leaves the bedroom. Why would Draco go to the bedroom without Harry? He buries that thought, gaining confidence as he walks over to the bedroom door and grasps the handle. It isn’t locked, and it opens with a soft ‘click’ as Harry peers into the darkness. He just barely makes out the outline of Draco sleeping on the ground in the corner of his room, covered loosely by a blanket, head resting on a large, fluffy pillow. Harry swallows back the acid in his throat and shuts the door quietly. He fumbles his way back to the couch and falls back into a restless sleep.

***

They spend the next month in their own sexy bubble of sorts. Harry goes to work during the day while Draco works on healing at home. They have tons of sex together when Harry gets home, and spend any other free time enjoying meals together, going for walks, or reading in the drawing room. For the first few nights, at the end of the evening, Draco retreats to his room and Harry sleeps on the couch. By the fifth night, Harry has had enough.

“Draco,” he says quietly. They are sitting at the table enjoying tea and scones together, and Draco looks up from his book in question.  Harry steels himself, vowing to be straightforward with the other man, telling himself that this is the second chance he will not squander, and says, “I want to sleep with you.” Draco nearly chokes on the scone he has just taken a bite from, and he takes a moment to chew thoughtfully before swallowing quietly and raising his eyes to Harry’s.

“Is that not what we’ve been doing?” He seems genuinely confused, and Harry sighs before trying again.

“I mean, I want to fall asleep with you, sleep through the night with you, and then wake in the morning with you.” And Draco takes a sharp breath as the realization seems to dawn on him, but Harry plunders on, knowing what he says next is the most important part, “I don’t care where we sleep. I don’t care if it’s the bed, the couch…or the floor.” Both men know that Harry knows where Draco sleeps, it’s just been a touchy subject. Harry doesn’t even begin to pretend he knows how to talk with Draco about any of it outside of just investigating for the case. And he’s decided he will just wait for the fair haired man to talk when he is ready.

Draco, for his part, doesn’t break eye contact as he takes in Harry’s words. Then he sighs quietly as if relieved, and nods, a small smile appearing on his lips in a delicate manner. “I’d really like that, Harry.” He tells him, and all is well with the world again. And even though their first night together is absolutely uncomfortable, and Harry wakes up with horrible back pain, he thinks it’s completely worth it.

By the eighth night, Harry learns that they both suffer from residual nightmares. Harry’s still revolve around Draco’s ‘death,’ and Draco’s revolve around his experiences while being held hostage by Dresden. He has one repeating nightmare where the ghosts of all the murdered children are haunting him, asking him why he allowed them to die, circling in until they have taken up all of his air and he begins to suffocate. Those nights are the hardest, and Harry does his best to hold onto Draco as he gasps for air, screaming into the night and asking why things had to happen the way they did. When Harry has his nightmares, Draco gently taps him on the shoulder until he wakes, then he wraps his arms around him and tells him everything is okay, and it’s enough to sooth Harry back to sleep.

At work, Harry is surprised to learn from Ron and Hermione that Ginny hasn’t told any of the Weasleys why they’ve decided to get a divorce. She has only disclosed to them that it is amicable, which until that point Harry hadn’t been sure was the case. Ron checks on him periodically, telling him he is there for him if he wants to talk about it. Sometimes he encourages Harry to win Ginny back, which is only awkward and pulls at Harry’s heartstrings in an awful manner. Harry just tells him that isn’t going to happen, and promises he will talk to him when he is ready. Ron seems to take this in stride, and he is patient enough for the moment. Hermione, on the other hand, keeps giving him these calculating, knowing looks that make Harry feel really uncomfortable, so he mostly spends his time avoiding her. He has a sinking feeling that she has him completely figured out, and he is not ready to face that fact.

Harry has become distracted by quite a few other cases, and as time goes by and he continues to come up empty handed on Dresden, his priorities begin to slowly shift away from him altogether. Draco begins to shift his focus as well, more toward his healing and trying to work toward getting reinstated as an Auror. He slowly starts to leave his flat more, begins to wake up at earlier times, and wears more than just his snitch pajamas. When Draco’s mind healer comes to visit, Harry makes himself scarce, always making sure to give them their privacy. Harry does his best to stay out of it, only comments on Draco’s progress here and there, and waits for him to open up on his own.

By the twelfth night, it finally starts to happen. They are laying on the ground together after another round of mind blowing sex. Harry thinks that maybe, eventually, he could get used to the hard ground in the same way that Draco seems to take comfort in it. Draco turns to Harry thoughtfully, chewing his bottom lip worriedly, and Harry just stares at him openly, trying to remain as approachable as possible.

“I think I’ll cast a cushioning charm on the ground tonight.” He says uncertainly, looking to Harry for some type of approval.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Harry says, reaching out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Tilda and I have been working through it together,” Draco continues, and Harry holds back a smile at his mention of his mind healer, wanting to remain perfectly neutral so as not to scare him away. “It’s a coping mechanism, or so she says, which seems right, even if it’s the not the healthiest way to cope with my trauma….anyways, when I first came back, I couldn’t stand to use pillows or blankets, but I’ve built up to this point, and I think, I’m ready to try the cushioning charm.” It all seems to come out in one breath, and Draco’s hand is gripping Harry’s so tight Harry thinks it might be broken. But he dares not pull it away, and his heart only swells with happiness and adoration at the thought that Draco trusts him enough to share with him about these things.

“Let’s try it, then, and if you don’t like it, we can always just go back to not using the cushioning charm tomorrow.” He encourages, smiling sweetly. He is secretly thrilled at the prospect of the cushioning charm, and he hopes desperately that it will work out for the better.

“Thank you for not judging me on this,” Draco tells him sincerely, “Or thinking any less of me.” Harry says nothing, overtaken by the emotion of it all, and Draco continues, “I know it’s not right to want to sleep the way he made me sleep for so long against my will, but I just don’t feel okay otherwise. Tilda says it has something to do with what’s called ‘survivor’s guilt,’ meaning some part of me feels I don’t deserve to sleep on a bed when all those kids can never sleep on a bed again. And as I’ve had some time to really process things, I’m beginning to learn that she is absolutely right.”

“Draco, you know that what happened wasn’t your fault, right?” Harry asks finally, and the words echo hollowly in his memories, back to a time where his own wife used to fruitlessly ask him the same question. Draco nods minutely and looks away.

“Logically, yes, but there are parts of me that don’t answer to logic.” He says cryptically.

“Draco…thank you so much for trusting me enough to share with me. I’m here for you, if you want to talk more. I promise I will never judge you or your process. I love every part of you, and I only want to help in whatever way I can.” Harry says, pulling the other man into a hug. Draco nods against his chest.

“Alright, Potter, enough of the mushy stuff,” he says, pulling away abruptly and dramatically fluffing their pillows, “Besides, I have a cushioning charm to cast.”

Thankfully, Draco decides that he does, indeed, like the cushioning charm, much to Harry’s relief. He also seems to like talking to Harry about more intimate subjects, and it’s a beautiful and wondrous thing. This only seems to aid in Draco’s healing process, and Harry notices a fundamental shift in Draco’s overall demeanor. He just seems happier all around, and by the twentieth night, he changes the wards to accommodate Harry, allowing him to Apparate in and out as he pleases.

On the twenty-ninth night, their comfortable, sexy little bubble finally pops. Harry finishes his work on a case early, and Apparates into the apartment without a second thought. Draco is not in the kitchen, which is where Harry usually finds him. It’s become a bit of an unspoken routine, in which Draco has taken a liking to cooking dinners for them on weeknights. There are various food prep items out on the counter, so Harry knows Draco still plans to cook, it is probably just too early for him to actually get started. He removes his shoes and coat before making his way into their bedroom so he can grab a shower in the master bath. He never anticipates the scene that he actually walks in on.

Draco is standing in the middle of the bedroom, sleeve drawn up on his left arm, right hand holding his wand, which is pointed at his left arm. He has cast a cutting curse on his arm, and the same scar that Dresden left on him is now open as blood flows from it into a cup on a dresser that Draco leans over. Harry simply stands there like a fish out of water, trying desperately to process what he is seeing into anything even resembling normal.

“Harry, no, this isn’t what it looks like!” Draco screams, scrambling for purchase, tipping the blood onto the carpet in the process. Harry watches the dark liquid as it spills downward onto the cream carpet, spreading in odd patterns as it soaks into the plush fibers. He can’t help but think of that day just a little over a year ago, when he watched his partner and lover bleed all over the ground as he died in his arms. He shakes that thought away, looking back up into frantic silvery eyes.

“Draco,” Harry says calmly, choosing not to jump to any conclusions and allow the other man to explain, “What exactly is going on here?” Draco chooses this exact moment to fall apart. He crumples to the ground, fists pressed up against his eyes as he cries openly.

“I…I can’t stop cutting the scar,” he gasps through his tears, “no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop collecting the blood. There is something inside of me that just won’t allow me to stop. I don’t do anything with it, I swear, and I hate myself for even doing it in the first place.” Harry moves to him of his own accord. He casts a quick healing spell over the bleeding cut and a cleaning spell over the spilt blood on the dresser and carpet, and then wraps his arms around Draco. He has a million questions, and the Auror in him finds it hard to believe that there isn’t something more nefarious going on. But this is Draco, he reminds himself, the man he loves, and the man who is riddled with nightmares and feels he doesn’t even deserve to sleep on a bed anymore. But what if that guilt is more deserving than the other man lets on? Harry forces that thought away and chooses instead to be there for Draco. Draco has said before that his coping mechanisms are unhealthy. Perhaps this is just another one of those.

“Everything is going to be okay.” He whispers, even though he doesn’t know that for sure, and allows Draco to just cry in his arms. Later, when the blonde is calmer, he asks, “Does Tilda know about the cutting?”

“No,” Draco says, “I’ve been too ashamed to tell anyone.” Harry squeezes his shoulders gently.

“Draco, you should never feel too ashamed to tell me anything. I meant what I said before, I love you and every part of you, cutting included.” Draco blanches slightly, but he relaxes under Harry’s touch. “Call her.” Harry encourages, “she is only here to help.” And Draco merely nods.

“Don’t tell Kingsley,” he pleads quietly, “I’ve been doing so well and…he is coming over tomorrow to discuss the possibility of me going back to work, of being your partner again.” Draco’s eyes alight with so much hope, that Harry fights back his own tears. The prospect of having his partner back fills him with so many mixed emotions that he can barely keep up with his own feelings.

“Your healing process is not my business to tell to anyone.” He says, and he means it.

***

The next morning, Draco and Tilda are sat in the dining room having tea together. Draco looks much more relaxed than he had the night before. He had taken Harry’s advice and called her in today to talk about the cutting. Harry leaves them to their privacy. He can’t stop thinking about the night before and everything that he has witnessed. Draco has been acting so very strange, and, for all intents and purposes, it is almost as though he is continuing to uphold some part of the ritual. It stands to reason that his trauma has caused him to cope in such a strange way. There is even a possibility that his magical signature has been somehow altered by the blood ritual, since they know nothing about it, and it could even be compelling him to continue to uphold the parts of the ritual that don’t morally compromise him. But there is a sinking feeling that Harry can’t escape, that Draco knows more than he lets on, or even worse, he has been somehow involved. Even the mere thought of it causes his insides to twist with utter horror.

The only thing that will put Harry’s mind at ease now is solving the case once and for all. So he decides to make that his main priority, despite the fact that he has exhausted all avenues of investigation and has no idea where to go from here. He knows he is probably too close to this, and he should just divulge all of his research to another Auror. But his gut is telling him that he is the one who needs to finish this. He trusts Draco so much, despite his strange behaviors and coping mechanisms, no matter how alarming they are. The part of him that is an Auror has made Draco a prime suspect, which pains Harry down to his very core. He vows to investigate and find out the truth, regardless of how painful that truth might be. The only thing Harry can think to do is to go back to the cottage where he and Ron found Draco. Aurors already investigated for evidence, but maybe there will be something that was missed, or at the very least, some source of inspiration.

The cottage itself has been heavily warded to the point that it takes Harry a few minutes to actually breach them and make his way inside. It still retains some of its comforting qualities, a small fireplace in the living room, along with a large china cabinet filled with different assortments of crockery, and a quaint little kitchen. But further investigation reveals the darker side of what was going on in that home. The chains that held Draco to the wall in the living room are still in the same exact spot, and some rather sinister supplies lay strewn about in the storage closet: some rope, buckets, and knives are the most visible. Harry finds the large metal tub that Draco described when talking about the little girl who was skinned alive, and it is rusted to the point that the rust reminds Harry of blood, and he dry heaves a bit. He supposes he can question some of the patrons of the muggle village nearby, as perhaps one of them has seen something that could be useful.

Once he has done a quick visual sweep of the place, he pulls out his wand and begins to cast basic diagnostic locator spells, knowing full well that they would probably bring up no results, but acting from muscle memory all the same. It is comforting to do something familiar like this, and it honestly makes him feel a sense of accomplishment, however small. That is why Harry’s eyebrows rise into his hairline in surprise when the spell locates two rather large stacks of documents that had clearly not been there before. He immediately begins to rifle through the documents, and finds neatly scrawled notes describing the blood ritual in great detail. Bits of papers have been taken out of books from all over the world in all types of languages, having been compiled through extensive research. Letters in a different handwriting have been collected in chronological order, held together in a thick stack, all of them signed “ _K.S.”_ Each other letters contain research and information revolving around the ritual.

Another diagnostic spell reveals that a very specific timer spell has been placed on the documents. So when Dresden banished them it was only temporary. Meaning who ever this K.S. person is, they are bound to come and try to collect the documents any minute. If Harry stakes out the place he could easily catch them. He figures that this is very time sensitive, so it is highly possible this person may even be planning on coming to retrieve the documents today. He spends some more time digging through the documents and familiarizing himself with the blood ritual, something called “Sanguinum Purgo,” when a small photograph slides out onto the ground at his feet. Brimming with curiosity, Harry bends over to pick the photograph up. It is clearly an old photograph, slightly faded on the edges, but the magic is still ever present. Dresden looks much younger, happier, and healthier even, as he stands next to a young teenaged boy who looks oddly familiar. In the picture, both smile and turn toward the camera, with Dresden draping an arm around the young boy’s shoulders. They are standing inside of someone’s kitchen, although Harry doesn’t recognize it at all. He stares for a few minutes at the repeating sequence of events in the photograph, his heartbeat speeding as a dreadful realization slowly bubbles to the surface of his addled mind. Everything suddenly clicks into horrifying clarity as he finally recognizes the young boy to be none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. _K.S._

_“Don’t tell Kingsley…he is coming over tomorrow to discuss the possibility of me going back to work.”_ Draco’s words from the previous night resound in Harry’s frazzled brain as he disapparates desperately back to their flat. He can only hope he isn’t too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you thought.


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